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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141755">Thrive Amidst Chaos</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSWilliams/pseuds/JSWilliams'>JSWilliams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>66 Seals (Supernatural), Action/Adventure, Angel Healing, Angel Vessels (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Angels, Archangels, Bonding, Brother-Sister Relationships, Demonic Possession, Demons, Destiel - Freeform, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Little Sisters, Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Nephilim, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Female Character, POV Original Female Character, Pre-Apocalypse, Protective Dean Winchester, Quote: Saving people hunting things (Supernatural), Romance, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 11, Sister-fic, Slow Build, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Winchester Sister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:48:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>72,646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSWilliams/pseuds/JSWilliams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A Winchester Sister Fic: Sandy honestly wasn’t sure of what to expect, or what good talking to two random guys that apparently knew her bio-dad was gonna' do to help find her missing mom, but Adam had insisted, playing the 'big-brother-knows-best' card. -- Little did she know that that one initial meeting would be the origins chapter to an otherwise long and turbulent story, featuring a pair of brothers she hadn't even known she had, monsters, and a war between Heaven and Hell, all with the endgame of jump-starting the apocalypse. *ON HOLD BUT NOT FORGOTTEN*</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester &amp; Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester &amp; Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester &amp; Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. CH01, Wayward Sister</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In the wake of the show coming to an end (sad freaking times), I recently made it my mission during my country's second Lockdown to binge-watch all of the seasons of Supernatural, and just could not get this plot-bunny out of my head after watching season four. So, with that said, here's a little teaser, let me know if you want more - enjoy! x</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay . . . so I had an idea while rewatching season 4, episode 19 (Jump the Shark) . . . a good idea? That remains to be seen lol, but it's one I'm rolling with, so yeah . . . I just really wanted to see some normalcy in the Winchesters' life, Sandy is that little injection of reality into their family, hopefully, she'll bringing out the softer sides of the two bros. So yeah . . . enjoy it, I guess x</p><p>IDEA: What if Adam wasn't actually John's other kid, but his younger half-sister was?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Jump the Shark, S04E19</strong>
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><hr/><p><strong>               S</strong>andy honestly wasn’t sure of what to expect, or what good talking to two random guys that apparently knew her bio-dad was gonna' do, but Adam had insisted, playing the 'big-brother-knows-best' card.</p><p>He’d been doing that a lot of late, which was really getting on Sandy's last nerve, to be honest, if only because he was doing nothing pass simply <em>telling</em> her what-was-what, with no farther explanation or reassurance, no nothing - it was not like her brother at all. But given the situation, she was prepared to table her concern for him for the moment, in favour of focusing on their missing mom.</p><p>               So, she had just put his odd behaviour down to worry and stress, Adam had always been the closest to their mom out of the two of them, a true mamma’s boy through-and-through. He was still fundamentally Adam, of course, just . . . just . . . <em>different</em>. He just wasn’t acting how she would have imagined he would in the face of their mother disappearing without a trace. Sure, he was appropriately scared, but not at all worried like Sandy thought he <em>really</em> ort to be, like she was. Instead, he was insisting that she call her dead-beat dad, and meeting with these bozos, all when they should be out harassing the police into taking another look at their house to see if they missed anything.</p><p>               Which they <em>obviously</em> must-have.</p><p>               Because no one just ups and vanishes out of the freaking blue, especially not someone who pretty much qualified as a helicopter mom, who'd video-called Sandy during every break she had while working a night shift at the hospital. She hated having to leave Sandy alone at home for so long, especially at night, now that Adam was away most of the time with school - but Sandy didn't mind it. She liked the quite, she didn't feel like such a freak when she was alone, no onesided conversations with anyone else but herself. Just the way she liked it.</p><p>              She'd been mute for about three years now, since her thirteen birthday actually, so she could still remember a time from before when she could vocalise her thoughts like everyone else. Not that Sandy liked to dwell on the past, it was easier both mentally and emotionally to just keep looking forward, as they say, no point crying over spilt milk. Besides, she didn't have a problem with being mute so much anymore, just with being mute in a world full of people who <em>weren't</em> mute too, where so few people actually knew enough sign language to actually carry on a conversation with her. It was . . . lonely, quite honestly, which was why she elected for homeschooling, despite her mom's protests. The way Sandy saw it, she might as well be comfortable at home and lonely, rather than surrounded by ignorant jerks and lonely just the same.</p><p>               The lack of call that first night, near three days ago now, had been her first clue-in that something was very wrong. A concern that had only continued to grow as she tried calling her mom continuously for the rest of what would have been her work shift, only to get her voicemail every single time, something that had literally never happened before, he mom <em>always</em> had her phone on her in case of emergencies. It hadn't been long after her seventh attempt in under four hours that Sandy had found herself calling her brother up to express her growing concerns, and Adam had come straight home from school, having not been able to get in contact with their mother either.</p><p>               Then <em>he</em> became the one not answering his phone or calling her back.</p><p>               She'd woke up the next day to find his beat-up truck parked out front of their home, travel bag in the passenger seat, and his phone still perched in the phone-holder connected to his dash - only with no trace of Adam insight. And she had looked, all freaking day for him, everywhere in town that she thought he could possibly be, all the while attempting to mentally prepare herself to call the cops and file yet another missing-person-report. </p><p>               But as luck would have it, he'd been in the very place she had looked first, their home, and had been apparently perfectly fine that whole time while she had been rapidly losing the last of already dwindling state of calm. Though 'perfectly fine' was a stretch at best, he was <em>too</em> calm himself in the wake of her meltdown and the disappearance of their mom to completely be normal, but as they say, everyone reacts differently to stress . . . right?</p><p>               So, here she was, entering Cousin Oliver's Hilltop Café, a place she had spent every summer vacation working as a waitress in since she was fourteen, all to meet two guys that her late father apparently knew. Why? She still couldn’t understand Adam’s reasoning behind it, she was sure that they didn’t even know her mom, and if they were mechanics like her dad . . . well, she wasn’t sure how they were gonna’ do a better job than the police had at finding her.</p><p>               They saw them first, with one of them calling out to Adam, from where they sat in the far corner of the front of the café. They were definitely John Winchester type of men that was for sure, flannel and jeans donned by both, and they drove his car too, she’d seen it parked out front. Adam sent them a half-smile and an awkward nod, pulling on Sandy’s reluctant arm, as he led their way over.</p><p>              Sandy did not want to be here, she wasn't even a little bit mentally prepared to deal with two strangers right now, she was a wreck, it only took one look at her to see that. Not that she was some fashion-forward it-chick or anything, but she usually put a little more effort into her wardrobe choices than she had been lately, but that was a frivolous effort that she just didn't have the energy for right now. No, her plain black leggings, a padless sports bra, covered with her mom's oversized white knit jumper, paired with her beloved black Dr Martens were all a choice of comfort on her part, and that was all she needed from her clothes right now. </p><p>               “There’s <em>two</em> of you?” The blonde of the two men spoke up, not pleased at all to be meeting them clearly, at least if the clenching of his jaw and hardness of his green eyes were anything to go by.</p><p>               “This is my half-sister, Sandy - she'd John's kid,” Adam explained, shooting them an uncertainly look, no doubt picking up on the hostilities towards them just as she was. “You Sam?”</p><p>Sandy couldn't help but stumble at his 'half-sister' address, something he had never, not once in the whole of their lives, <em>ever</em> called her. She was honestly too startled to even be hurt by it, just blinked up at him with a little gap to her pouty mouth, confusion making her palpable as he pulled her over to the table. </p><p>               “Yeah,” Sam, the handsome long-haired brunette, smiled in awkward reassurance, shooting the equally handsome man beside him a hard warning look, “Uh, this is Dean.”</p><p>               “Hey,” Adam said timidly, brows furrowed uncertainly towards Dean, who only glared right on back at Adam and her, not saying a word of greeting or welcome.</p><p>               She still didn’t even know why they were here, these guys couldn’t help them, and if Dean’s reception of them was anything to go by, he didn’t <em>want</em> to help them either. But before she could try and give it one last effort to convince her stubborn brother of this pretty obvious truth, Adam was already setting his backpack on the back of the one empty chair on their side of the table, then taking a seat in said chair; right as the bell above the door chimed behind them in a familiar jingle that only succeeded in grating her already frayed nerves all the more so.</p><p>              She had always hated that damn sound, if only because it meant that she had had someone knew to try and converse with all because she didn't <em>look</em> handy-capped', which always took people by surprise in some of the most insulting ways. Her job at the cafe was to clear tables and bring out food, that's all since she couldn't talk to customers to wait on them or cover the till and take orders. It wasn't the best job in the world, it was long hours and more standing around doing nothing than her patience could stand for half the time, but it was a simple one, that paid well enough to steadily contribute to her coveted record collection.</p><p>               With an irritated little sound and a pointed look at her older brother, Sandy grabbed a spare chair from another table nearby, swinging it around to their table. She dropped into it with an unhappy frown, not quite a pout per-say but not far off one either, as she continued her reign of silent protest.</p><p>               “So, um . . .” Adam started, hands folding nervously before him on the table, “How did you know Sandy's dad?”</p><p>               Sandy had to frown at that from behind the curtain of blonde she was all but trying to lose herself behind. This was Adam's show, he was the one that wanted their help, not her, so she had come today fully intending to let him have at it. But Adam hadn't called John her dad in years now, he'd always just referred to him as her sperm-donor, or simply just John, especially after the last time they saw him.</p><p>               “Uh, we worked together,” Sam offered out, a clear half-truth, of which made Sandy’s eyes narrow suspiciously, while Adam’s face only indicated confusion.</p><p>               “<em>Ask them how he died?</em>” Sandy signed to Adam in a rapid blur of hand moments, getting two twin startled looks from the men sat across from them.</p><p>It was a question she had been wondering non-stop since she learned earlier that very morning that he had died. It certainly explained why the calls to even her mom had stopped, so abruptly too, almost like he had just fallen off the face of the earth. They hadn't said much on the phone, just asked for a place to meet after Adam had informed them that I was John's daughter, and then ended the call just mere moment after it had even begun. </p><p>               “You’re deaf?” Sam asked softly, brows raised in their curiosity, as he signed his question to her along with his spoken words. It wasn’t the best sign language attempt she had ever seen, but she always appreciated it when someone thought enough to make the effort to actually talk to <em>her</em> instead of to her through her brother.</p><p>              In an act of self-consciousness, Sandy pulled her hands deep up into the overly long sleeves of her borrowed jumper, tucking the ends in tight within her clenched fists, as she shook her head in a negative to his question, forcing herself not to squirm under the duel weight of their stares. She was used to people thinking that she was deaf, of course, and the surprise that comes with it, but that didn't mean she had to like the unabashed staring like she was some broken toy to be pocked and examined. </p><p>               “Uh, no, she can hear just fine,” Adam rebuffed with a soft smile, but only after her little nod of consent did he explain farther with, “She has Neurogenic mutism. It’s a lack of speech due to underlying damage to the brain – we . . . uh . . . we were in a car accident when we were kids, she took the brunt of it when the other car hit ours.”</p><p>               And by a car 'accident', what he actually meant was a stupid teenager got himself drunk enough to be seeing double and still got behind the wheel of his car anyway. But he was the town's star football player, heading for bigger and brighter things, and no one had been seriously hurt, at least according to the judge, so he saw no reason to destroy the poor boy's life over one silly little mistake. </p><p>               John had been there that day, driving the car, it was one of the few birthdays they had actually spent together. Sandy had never seen someone look as worried as he had that day, as he held his own overshirt up against the side of her head, trying to keep her talking until the ambulance came. But it was also the last time she saw him, he was gone before she woke up the next day, leaving her with nothing but an unwrapped birthday present resting on the table beside her hospital bed and a hastily little handwritten note on the back of a motel receipt. </p><p>               “I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam offered out sincerely, speaking directly to her once again, drawing an honest up-turn to her lips in response.</p><p>               “<em>It was a long time ago now</em>,” She signed with a dismissive shrug, hands moving much slower than she usually did so he could follow her words better, which he did with a frown of concentration creasing between his brows as he did just that, “<em>I'v</em><em>e made my peace with it</em>.”</p><p>               “So . . .” Adam drew out, shooting a curious look between Sam and Dean, drawing the conversation back to the main topic at hand, “How did her dad die?”</p><p>               “On the job,” Sam informed them cagily. It was the truth, Sandy could tell, but it wasn’t the <em>whole</em> truth, he looked too guilty in the eyes for that to be the whole truth.</p><p>               “He was a mechanic, right?” Adam voiced her very same thought. It wasn’t exactly the most dangerous of jobs to have, after all, it certainly left room for farther questions asked on the matter.</p><p>               “A car fell on him,” Dean offered out bluntly, getting a sharp look from Sam, of which he ignored in favour of glaring holes right through Sandy and her brother.</p><p>               Before either she or Adam could even think to come up with a response to his cold delivery, Denise, someone who Sandy works with during her summer shifts at the cafe, came up to the table. Her usual friendly disposition was a stark contrast to Dean’s sourly one, that was for sure, but then again, everyone in their little hometown was overly friendly more often than not – it drove Sandy nuts. They all treated her like she was some fragile, broken thing that needed to be protected at all costs – it was infuriating, even if she knew it came from a place of care on their parts.</p><p>               “Hey, Sandy – Adam,” Denise greeted them in her overly sweet and completely sincere voice, pony-tail swinging, as she fluttered her ridiculously long lashes Adam’s way, “How are you guys doing?”</p><p>               And while she addressed them both, Sandy knew that she only had eyes for Adam, he was literally all she spoke about the whole time she and Sandy were on shift together – it was dead annoying really. How could it <em>not</em> be? No girl wanted to listen to another lust over their brother, it was more than a little gross, even if Denise had always been careful to keep it all PG-13. Not that she stood a chance, the poor fool, because Adam had always had a taste for bitch in his women, despite the fact that he was one of the nicest guys out there, and Denise was an honest-to-God saint-in-sunshine-yellow-vans.</p><p>               She set two extra glasses of water down on the table between them, seeing as they were short, only for Dean to promptly lean forward and take the one Denise placed before Adam. Sandy wasn’t the only one startled by the abruptness of his action, even Sam frowned at his travelling companion, though Dean didn’t seem at all fazed by their judging looks.</p><p>               “Oh, I’ll take that,” he had said with a smile that was too wide to be genuine, guzzling the glass whole in one sitting, completely blind or uncaring to Denise’s displeased look sent his way, finishing his spectacle with a shrug and a simple explanation of, “I am very thirsty.”</p><p>               “The usual, Adam?” Denise brushed Dean’s odd behaviour off in favour of shooting Adam heart-eyes, “Sandy?”</p><p>               “<em>No thank you, Denise</em>,” Sandy signed to the older girl, right as Adam said, “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Denise.”</p><p>               Sandy huffed out in irritation, shooting Adam one her <em>looks</em>, the ones she had been sending his way for days now, the ‘what the hell, bro’ looks whenever he was doing something particularly . . . <em>odd</em>. Like eating at a time like this, she could barely get her stomach to settle she was so worried about their mom, she couldn’t even remember the last time she ate properly since this whole thing had begun, and yet her brother had been stuffing his face the whole damn time without falter.</p><p>               “So, uh,” Sam started awkwardly, as he and Dean watched with way too much interest as Adam placed the glass he had just drank from back on the table, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, “When's the last time you saw John?”</p><p>               “I don't even know,” Adam shrugged on a thoughtful down-turn of his mouth, before shooting her a questioning look like he didn't already know the answer just as well as she did, “It's . . . a couple of years?”</p><p>              "<em>Three years</em>," she signed to Sam with certainty, who translated for his brother, while she continued to frown at her own. "<em>My thirteenth birthday was the last time we saw him. He kept calling our mom for about a year after, but I didn't wanna' talk to him, and after a while, the calls stopped coming . . . I thought he had just finally gotten the hint, but I guess, the calls stopped coming right around the time he died</em>."</p><p>               “Why did you decide to call him now then?” Sam asked, not unreasonably, Sandy had wondered the same damn thing when Adam had first suggested that they should, the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.</p><p>               "<em>I didn't</em>," she signed with a pointed look at her brother. </p><p>               “I didn't know who else to call,” Adam explained softly, shoulders drooping, as he nudged a shoulder gently against Sandy's own, “Our mom didn't have a lot of family on her side, just her parents really, and they died a few years back. My dad has never been in the picture, died before I was born - So I guessed, well, John was the only thing close to family we got now.”</p><p>               It was begrudgingly the truth, it had just been her mom, Sandy, and Adam for as long as either of them could remember. And John, of course, when he came along – he was the only person besides each other that Sandy had that was blood. But he was dead now too, apparently, and had been for two years - Sandy wasn't sure how she felt about that yet, part of her grieved for the kind, funny man who had made her feel like the most precious thing in the world, even if it was only for one day a year. But then she remembered how he just . . . <em>left</em> her after the accident, right when she needed him there the most, no goodbye, no call to see if she was okay or to explain why he left in the first place, no nothing. </p><p>               “Our mom's missing,” Adam explained, shoulder pressing against her own again.</p><p>               “Really? I'm sorry,” Sam was the first to respond, earnest and honest, as he ran a hand through his hair cautiously as he questioned, “Uh, for how long?”</p><p>               “It's tragic, really,” Dean finally added his piece in the conversation, not looking too particularly sympathetic, as he all but demanded to know, turning his hard gaze upon Sandy solely, “But if you're John's kid, how come we've never heard of you?”</p><p>               “'Cause she didn't really know John that well,” Adam explained in defence of her, “Not until a few years ago, anyway.”</p><p>               “What do you mean?” Sam asked, frown deep between his brows.</p><p>               “Our mom never talked about him,” Adam sighed, sharing a mirrored look of aged irritation with Sandy, “We knew some stuff.”</p><p>               Not much, mind you, their mom was a private woman, even when it came to sharing shit with her own kids at times. And to be quite honest, Sandy had never cared to know John at first, but Adam had insisted that she should at least meet him, something he'd never get to do with his own dad. And at first, she'd been grateful to Adam for pushing for it, because even if she only got a dad on her birthdays, it was one more day a year than she had had with him than before - and they were <em>good</em> days.</p><p>But then he left . . . she got hurt and he just left her. It was a harsh realisation, that one day a year wasn't nearly enough, she didn't need him there for just her birthdays, she needed him there for everything that came in between. And if he couldn't do that, then fine by her, Sandy had her mom and she was more than enough a parent to make up for the both of them. Sandy and Adam had never wanted for anything, sure money wasn’t always the best it could be and their mom had to work a lot, but they were loved and undoubtedly cared for in every way a mom is supposed to care for her child.</p><p>               “What kind of <em>stuff</em>?” Dean demanded to know abruptly, getting a startled look from Adam and a sharp glare from her at his gruffness.</p><p>               “<em>Our mom's a nurse, and John came into the ER, pretty torn up</em>,” Sandy signed, while Adam translated for Dean, who just frowned down at her rapidly moving hands in confusion, “<em>Hunting accident or something - it apparently left a lasting impression on our mom, she told me he was a hero the whole of my life because of whatever happened that day. And even after he left, and I didn't wanna' listen anymore, she kept telling me</em>.”</p><p>               “She wouldn't say why she thought he was a hero though, or even how he got hurt, to begin with,” Adam added his own piece, as Sandy lowered her hands, “That's about it. We're not exactly a nuclear family.”</p><p>               “Yeah, well, who is these days?” Sam asked with a snort of dark amusement.</p><p>               “So, when did you, uh, when did you finally meet him?” Dean asked of her, voice losing some of its harshnesses, though his eyes remained hard and unwavering.</p><p>               “<em>When I was nine</em>,” Sandy signed, to which Sam was the one to translate for Dean, "<em>I'm sixteen now</em>."</p><p>               With Adam adding on with, “Our mom had one of his old numbers, and after Sandy –” but at the pointed clearing of her throat Adam corrected himself with a conceiting nod and a roguish smile, “– <em>I</em> begged her – I'd never gotten the chance to meet my dad before he died, didn't want that for Sandy, so yeah, I bugged her to call him. God, when John heard he had a kid, he raced to town. I mean, he dropped <em>everything</em>. He drove all night.”</p><p>               Sandy frowned at him and his overselling in confusion. Sure, John had done that but was he forgetting that less than twenty-four hours later John was leaving again, and she didn’t see or hear from him again for near six months? But before Sandy could bring her hands up to remind him of that fact, Denise was there, putting Adam’s plate in front of him with a far too chipper, “There you go.”</p><p>               “Thanks,” Adam smiled ready up at the now blushing girl, who all but skipped off back to the café’s counter, getting an eye-roll from Sandy at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Their mom was missing and had been for days, why the hell were they still sitting here talking to these tools, they clearing didn’t even believe that she was John’s kid in the first place.</p><p>               “Well, that's heart-warming,” Dean drawled out unimpressed.</p><p>               “You mind?” Adam asked indicating to his food with a pointed finger.</p><p>               “<em>Please</em>, dig in,” Dean readily insisted, fake-ass smile back in place, as he motioned for Adam to gone right ahead.</p><p>               Not noticing or simply not caring, Adam ignored Dean’s curtness in favour of pulling the napkin out from under the silverware, spreading the tissue on his lap, showing more manners in that one moment than he ever had before. He ate like an animal half the time, and not once had she <em>ever</em> seen him put a napkin on his lap before, hell, she could barely even get him to chew with his mouth closed as it was half the time.</p><p>               More than a little wigged out by his strange behaviour, Sandy added, “<em>He would swing by once a year or so</em>,” to which Sam once again translated for Dean, while Adam tucked into his food like a half-starved man.</p><p>               “You know, called when he could, but still . . .” Adam chimed in, halting to take another bite, “He taught us poker and pool and even bought me my first beer when I was fifteen. And, uh . . . he showed us how to drive, though Sandy was <em>definitely</em> too young for <em>that</em> lesson, she had to sit on John's lap the whole time because her feet weren't even close to reaching the brakes - mom was <em>pissed</em>. John, he had this beautiful 'sixty-seven Impala –”</p><p>               If Dean hadn’t jumped in with an aggressive, “Oh, this is crap. You know what, you're lying,” Sandy would have signed something herself. Because he was describing the car like he didn’t know already that the men sat before them had driven it here, which he did because she had pointed it out to him when they first arrived at the café to meet them, it was parked right out the front. Hard to miss, especially since it was the very same car she had lost her voice in, which kind of left a lasting impression on a girl.</p><p>               “No, I’m not,” Adam insisted with a confused air of offence.</p><p>               It was the truth, all that he said they had done with John, but the <em>way</em> he said it . . . it was more nostalgic than Sandy had ever heard Adam speak in regards to her bio-dad, who up until a few days ago couldn't even pull a handful of nice words to say about the man, who he thought abandoned his beloved baby-sister and resented him for it.</p><p>               “Uh, yeah,” Dean shot back, pointing an accusing figure right at Adam before flicking it her way, “You <em>both</em> are.”</p><p>               “I'm sorry, but who the hell are you to call us liars, huh?” Adam set his cutlery down, finally showing a little of the Adam she knew best, the one who was quick to jump to defence at a moment’s notice, especially when it was in part a defence of her.</p><p>               “We're John Winchester’s sons, that's who,” Dean growled out, indicating to himself and Sam, who looked like a deer trapped in the rays of oncoming headlights, “<em>We</em> are his sons.”</p><p>               Sandy could only stare at Dean in honest shock, then at Sam, then again at Dean. She believed it in an instant too, she could <em>see</em> it now, like a cloud of confusion had been lifted and left only clarity in its wake, it was all right there for her to see in their faces. They <em>looked</em> like John, not just because of their flannel attire either, but in the face and eyes. But more than that, they <em>looked</em> like Sandy, even more so than Adam did, especially Dean - he had <em>her</em> eyes and her dusting of freckles too.</p><p>               “Your Sandy's brothers too?” Adam asked in soft awed shock of his own, ready to believe just as Sandy was apparently, it made her wonder if he could see the familial similarities just as keenly as she now could too.</p><p>               “<em>No</em>, we're not her brothers,” Dean snapped back in irritation, jaw locking as he shot a hard look at them, daring them to contradict him, “Look, I don't know if you guys are hunters or what kind of game you're playing here.”</p><p>               “We’ve never been hunting in our lives,” Adam spoke for them both, nose crinkling up in disgust at the mere idea of taking a gun to Bambi’s mom, a movie of which had left Adam traumatised as a little kid.</p><p>               “<em>Whatever</em>. I'm out of here,” Dean huffed dismissively, getting up to leave, “Come on, Sam.”</p><p>               “We can prove it,” Adam offered up quickly before Dean could get too far from their table, getting a confused look from Sandy and an intrigued one from Sam.</p><p>               How on earth he imaged that he was gonna’ be able to do that, Sandy didn’t know, because other than a few pictures framed around their house, they had very little means to prove shit – as was stated before, John wasn’t a steady fixture in her life, at least not in recent years. But Adam wasn’t to be deterred, she noted with a tired sigh, watching as he pushed back from the table himself, grabbing his backpack to pull his wallet out. He dropped a couple of scrunched up notes on the table to cover his half-eaten lunch, before tugging on the shoulder of Sandy’s jumper to get her up and moving too.</p><p>               “<em>What the hell are we even doing here, Adam?</em>” She signed to him in a rapid blur of hand moments she knew was too quick for Sam to understand all of, “<em>We don’t have to prove shit to these people – we only have their words that they are who they say they are too – and so what if they are? They’re no more my brothers than John was my dad</em>.”</p><p>               “They might be able to help, Sandy,” Adam insisted softly, dipping down so his eyes were more in height to her own, as his hand closed in what was supposed to be comfort upon her shoulder.</p><p>               It wasn’t – <em>comforting</em> – that is, it felt . . . hollow, like it wasn’t sincere, which didn’t make any sense. Adam was one of the most caring people she had ever met, he was warm and open, and his eyes were easier to read than a child’s book, and yet . . . she couldn’t read the ones starting back at her right now. They were her brother’s eyes . . . and yet . . . <em>not</em> her brother’s eyes, which didn’t make any sense at all.</p><p>               But with a sigh and an uncertain bite of her bottom lip, she relented with a jerky nod, getting a chaste kiss to the top of her head as he finally moved passed her. Her eyes followed his back in his wake, as he strolled passed a put-out Dean, waving goodbye to an eager Denise before he left the café completely.</p><p>               Sam nudged her arm gently to get her attention, asking, “You okay, Sandy?”</p><p>               “<em>He’s</em> . . .” She halted in her response, hands shakily a little as the stress of the last few days caught ahold of her in that moment – with her brother acting the way he was, Sandy felt more alone than ever before. “<em>He’s just acting . . . not like himself, is all, he’s taking our mom’s disappearance hard, I guess.”</em></p><p>               “How so?” Sam asked gently, as they followed their brother’s out of the café – <em>her </em>brothers.</p><p>                Wow, now <em>that</em> was weird. She now had <em>three</em> older brothers: one of which was acting all kinds of bizarre, one that looked like a Gentle Giant with a capital 'G' definitely needed, and another that was apparently a dick – good to know. </p><p>               “<em>Doesn’t matter</em>,” she brushed off her worries with a half-hearted smile, “<em>Come on, we better get out there before your brother glares mine to death</em>.”</p><p>               With a snort of amusement, Sam followed along behind her, like a great hawking shadow – damn, he was a <em>tall</em> son of a bitch, especially compared to Sandy’s dainty 5”3. Even his damn limbs were freakishly long, as he snaked his arm out above her to hold the door open for her without crowding her, an impressive feat of limb-stretch she’d admit. Sending him a grateful smile, Sandy tucked a long strand of blonde behind her ear, as she stepped out into the front car-park of the cafe.</p><p>               Where Adam was apparently irritating Dean with all his awkward chatter as the latter waited for Sam by the impala. Sandy wanted to ask if she could ride with them, just so she could ride once more in that beautiful car, one that had been a broken mess the last time she had seen it thanks to the accident. But knew, given by the growing twitch under Dean’s left eye, that <em>that</em> was not going to happen any time soon.</p><p>               Crossing to Adam, Sandy grabbed a hold of his arm, tugging him in the direction of his beat-up truck, before shooting a few signs at Sam from over her shoulder, “<em>Follow us, okay?</em>”</p><p>               “Sure thing,” Sam nodded with a smile and a little adorably awkward wave, as he readily crossed to the passenger’s side of the impala, ignoring the confused glaring looks Dean was sending his way as he too climbed into the car.</p><p>              Crossing to the passenger side of the truck, Sandy had to use the help of the door to hoist herself up into the high seating of the car, while Adam just climbed in the driver's side without issue and a snort of amusement at her expense. With a glare, as she strapped herself in and flipped him off simultaneously, Sandy ignored her brother's laughter as she situated her self on the lump old front seat with a huff. </p><p>              She wanted to ask what the hell had gotten into him back there, prompting all that 'John-Love' crap he had been laying on thick, but before she could even bring her hands up he was pulling the truck out of the parking lot. And given her history with car accidents, she wasn't keen to distract him by trying to sign to him when he should be focusing on the road ahead. So instead, she watched the impala in the wing-mirror on her side of the car as it followed closely behind them, watching as the fading Minnesota sun glinted off the shiny black paintwork in a pretty array of glimmering light.</p><p>              She was glad John had managed to fix her, she was too beautiful a car to go out at the hands of a drunk idiot behind the wheel of his mom's minivan, of all things. He'd done a good job of it too, Sandy wouldn't have ever believed the car had been in a crash had she not been sitting right in it at the time, it looked as good as new. Which was an impressive feat, given the car was older than her and her brother combined, clearly, a lot of love and time had gone into keeping it looking beautiful. </p><p>              She just wished John had loved her half as much as he clearly had loved that car.</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. CH02, Paint A Pretty Picture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>               <strong>S</strong>andy couldn’t help but feel sad for Dean, as she watched him and Sam examined the framed picture in the former's hands, with an angry look of betrayal in his eyes that run deep. It was a nice picture, she’d admit, of her, Adam and John, with all of them wearing baseball caps and smiles.</p><p>               It was the last picture he had taken with her before the accident, the last day they had spent together before he left her, the day of her thirteen birthday that had ended with her in the hospital for the next month and a half. She'd been so angry and hurt when she woke up, crying for her daddy that wasn't there, to learn that he wasn't even in the same state anymore. She'd probably never know now, why he left her that day, but at least now she knew why he had been enacting radio-silence for the last two yeast. Because he had apparently been dead as a door-nail, which it kinda made her feel a <em>little</em> bad for all the mean things she had thought in regards to her absentee-daddy-o those last few years because as it turns out, he hadn't given up on trying to get her to let him visit again. He had just died before he could achieve that allusive goal, and she hadn't even noticed, which made her feel little like a piece of shit. </p><p>               “He took you to a baseball game?” Dean asked, bite in his voice, as his hands tightened on the frame, causing the wood to give out a protesting creak in response to his manhandling of it.</p><p>               “Yeah, when Sandy turned fourteen,” Adam confirmed with a dismissive shrug, like it was nothing, especially when it clearly meant something to Dean. It was a callous action on Adam’s part and it had her frowning at just how uncharacteristic it was of her usually very attentive brother. “John was around for a few of her birthdays.”</p><p>               Pulling out a well-used journal that Sandy had seen John scribble in on nearly every visit, Sam opened to a mid-way-through page, reading aloud to Dean, “November fifteenth, two-thousand-three. One word. 'Minnesota.'”</p><p>               But Dean couldn't seem to be able to get past the picture in his hands, repeating, “He took <em>you</em> to a freakin' <em>baseball</em> game?”</p><p>               “Yeah. Why?” Adam confirmed, once again with that same callousness as before, which was really starting to get on Sandy’s nerves, as he took the picture from Dean and set it back on the shelf, “What'd he do with you on your birthday?”</p><p>               By the way that Dean was taking the picture so damn personally, Sandy couldn't imagine that it was anything half as pronounced as a ball game, and that made her sad for him. He had actually been raised with the man, and yet, she was gifted with grand gifts and excursions out. Had their roles been reversed, Sandy could imagine that she'd be more than a little betrayed and hurt too.</p><p>               “Oh . . .” Dean sounded, hand waving the question away with tense shoulders and angry eyes, to which Adam thankfully found his tacked enough not to prod farther at.</p><p>               “Adam,” Sam jumped in, no doubt reading the tension brewing in Dean just as keenly as she was, “You said you called John because your mom was missing.”</p><p>               “Yeah.”</p><p>               “How long has she been gone?” Sam followed up, eyes concerned and genuine.</p><p>               “<em>Three days</em>,” Sandy signed simply in response, of which even Dean was able to understand without translational aid.</p><p>               “Who was the last person to see her?” Dean asked, with more interest shown at that moment than he’d shown since they met, clearly he wasn’t a <em>total</em> heartless dick.</p><p>               “Mr Abbinanti, our neighbour,” Adam answered, “He saw her leaving home Tuesday night for her shift at the hospital, but she never showed up to work and didn't come home Wednesday morning either.”</p><p>               As Adam spoke, Dean surveyed the room around them, eyes locking hard upon another picture, the one of John and her mom, who Sandy could only guess looked enough like his own mother to be uncomfortable, at least if the sudden and acute pain in his eyes was anything to go by.</p><p>               Stepping up to his side, Sandy tapped his arm, getting his attention in the form of an uncomfortable glare, to which she only tried for a smile back in response. Bringing a hand to his head, she reached up to brush a cautious hand against his short dark-blonde spikes of hair, before bringing her hand back, moving it up to twirl a lock of her own pale-blonde hair about one of her fingers, in the form of a silent question she was hoping he was smart enough to understand.</p><p>               “Yeah, uh, our mom was blonde too,” he got out gruffly, clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but surprisingly gentle now it was just her he was talking to, “Though my hair ain’t ever been as blonde as yours is.”</p><p>               “Did you call the police?” Sam asked Adam.</p><p>               “Mom's supervisor at the hospital did,” Adam cleared his throat, as emotion threatened to choke him, “I should have been <em>here</em>.”</p><p>               Crossing to his side, Sandy gently slapped him up-side his head, getting a yelp and a “What the hell, Sands?!” from him as she started to sign, rapid and clearly fuelled by frustrated-anger.</p><p>               “<em>Do you blame me for not calling the police the moment she didn't call me that night?</em>” Getting an “Of course not!” before she continued with, “<em>Then why the hell would you blame yourself, huh? Don’t start thinking stupidly, Adam, it’s not a good look for you. And enough with the ‘her Dad is great crap’, you didn’t even like before five-minutes ago, so stop it – it’s weirding me out!”</em></p><p>               “Geez, alright, no need to hit me, Sands,” Adam grumbled, backing away from her, right as Dean cleared his throat awkwardly in the wake of their exchange, of which Sandy was sure he caught exactly <em>nothing</em> of.</p><p>               “What'd the, uh, what'd the cops say?” Dean asked, stepping away from the picture of her mom and John, back to his brother's side.</p><p>               “That they, uh, they searched the house,” Adam answered, continuing to eye Sandy cautiously, as she moved to take a seat on one of the sofa’s the room afforded, “They didn't find anything. But she <em>wouldn't</em> leave without telling anybody. It's like she just dropped off the face of the earth, you know?”</p><p>               “Mind if we take a look around?” Sam asked gently, sharing a looking with Dean that spoke volumes, and yet was completely lost on Sandy and Adam.</p><p>               “<em>Go for it</em>, <em>Gigantor</em>,” Sandy signed to him with a tired smile, and a playful tease in her eyes as she poked at his large size.</p><p>               Adam led the way for them from room to room, while Sandy remained seated in the living room, staring up at the picture of her mom and John that had so greatly distressed Dean before. She had always wondered . . . if John had even <em>cared</em> at all for her mom. Sure, when he was here he was warm and loving towards her, like no time at all had passed between them seeing each other, like they were the perfect picture of love, but Sandy never bought into it the way her mom had. Plus, she had heard him call her mom Mary once – her mom had just laughed it off – but Sandy had noted the sudden flash of pain in John’s eyes when he realized what he said. There wasn't regret because he had accidentally called her a name that wasn't her own, but there was grievous pain in his eyes for some reason, like the fact of realizing that her mom wasn’t this mysterious Mary was what had hurt him somehow.</p><p>               Sandy didn’t bother to join them in their survey of the house, at least not until she heard more dragging and banging around than was needed for the simple task of looking. She followed the sounds they were making straight up to her mom’s room, coming in just in time to see Dean’s legs shimmying their way down an air duct, of all things, while Adam and Sam watched on like it wasn't totally fucking bizarre a sight to see.</p><p>               Grabbing Adam’s arm, she turned him around to face her, signing, “<em>What the hell is going on, Adam? Why is Dean down a damn vent?”</em></p><p>“Look,” Adam pointed in way of explanation to the floor surrounding the vent in question, hopeful excitement in his eyes, as he eyed the deep set of claw marks leading right to where Dean had disappeared into. “Whoever took her <em>must</em> have gotten her out this way, Sands!”</p><p>               Her heart seized in her chest at the sight of the claw marks dug jaggedly into the wood flooring, coated in places with blood and broken bits of fingernails, proof that whatever happened her mom she had had at least managed to put up a fight. But Sandy couldn't experience the same hopeful excitement that Adam was obviously feeling in that moment, no . . . instead, she found herself more scared if anything else, now faced with the reality that something <em>bad</em> must have happened if her mom had felt the need to put up such a big fight not to be taken.</p><p>               Her hope was gone now, sapped up into nothing in her chest, as she rattled out painful gasps of air. Sandy just <em>knew</em> it was too late, she could <em>feel</em> it in her bones – Her mom was dead. The simple truth was, Kate Milligan had nothing worth being kidnapped over, and no ransom note had been left in her absence, and that was generally a kidnapper's M.O., right? And by the blood coting those scratched they, whoever <em>they</em> were, clearly didn’t particularly care if she got hurt or not.</p><p>               Needing to sit down suddenly, as black spots danced before her eyes, Sandy backed up until her back hit the wall with a soft thud, sliding her way down until she was crouched with her bum resting against the backs of her beat-up black Dr Martens boots. Neither Sam nor Adam noticed her retreat, giving her room to freak out alone for a few moments, with her mind coming up with all number of horrors that Dean could find down in that vent.</p><p>               And if his pale and pitying face was anything to go by when he finally climbed his way back up, aided by Adam and Sam, her brain’s far-fetched worries hadn’t been too far off the mark. Silent tears trailed down her cheeks as he spoke, telling them with gentle but blunt delivery about the blood, flesh, and bone that he found there. Adam, of course, jumped in to suggest that it might not be their mom’s, but Sandy knew it had had to be, and so did Sam and Dean too, at least if their shared looks of pitying were anything to go by. </p><p>              It was funny really, her mom had always complained that she didn't leave the house enough, that she needed to get out more - but Sandy was an introverted hermit to her very core, she didn't care for crowds, and she much preferred the familiar comforts that her picturesque childhood home provided her. And yet, all Sandy wanted now was to leave the house, to run out the front door and never look back; if only she could get her damn frozen legs to move, that is. </p><p>               Dean, surprisingly enough, was the one to approach her, squatting down in front of her with sad eyes that said they knew her pain all too well. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you out of here, huh?”</p><p>               With a sniffle and a jerky nod, Sandy took the large, calloused hand he offered her readily, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She stumbled a bit, as she noted the red staining the back of his hand, the red she was now pretty sure was her mom’s blood. Sam steadied her from behind, with two large hands upon her forearms, as Dean quickly pulled his offending hand away and out of sight with a look of self-beration.</p><p>               She wanted to sign to him, to tell him it was okay, but it truly wasn’t, and Sandy could barely draw in enough breath to breathe as it was, let alone attempt to bring her shaky hands up to form words at the moment. So she just tried to focus on that, just breathing, as she slumped back into Sam’s chest, unable to stand up of her own volition, not with her legs as unsteady as they were currently.</p><p>              Sam's large arms wrapped around her from behind as she sank into him, sobbing her heart out, breaths coming out in great hiccuping punches of air. It should feel strange, to be comforted by someone she didn't even know really, even if that stranger was technically her half-brother - but it wasn't. She felt safe and protected in his tight embrace, in a way she hadn't felt since her mom missed her call, not even when Adam turned up, acting all kinds of weird and just plain off. </p><p>              "Come on, let's get her out of here," she heard Dean's deep voice speak, sad and gentle, as another pair of arms took her from Sam's hold. </p><p>              Through her tear-blurred eyes, she could tell it was Dean who was the one to scoop her up into his arms, one arm curved behind her back, while the other hooked under the backs of her legs. He lifted her without issue, not that that was surprising, she was a 112 pounds soaking wet and he was clearly a strong man, so even if she were heavier it probably wouldn't have hindered him too much. His hold made her feel tinier than she already was, as he cradled her to his chest like she was something precious, something to be protected - and Sandy gave into that feeling with a neediness that surprised even her, as she curled her arms about his neck, burying her soaked face into the crook of his neck.</p><p>              He didn't complain about her tears and snot getting all over his top, if anything, he held her tighter still. While Sam and Adam followed in their wake, back to the living room where he set her down with the up-most gentleness upon one of the room's sofas. She didn't really want to let him or his comfort go but knew it was probably weird for him, having some random half-sister he didn't even know clinging to him like a hysterical koala bear, just as it should have been for her really. </p><p>              The whole thing was just <em>fucked up</em>, really, John had had plenty of opportunity over the handful of years they'd known each other to clue her in to the fact that she had, not one, but <em>two</em> older brothers. Who even did <em>that</em>, kept two sperate families running at the same time, both completely oblivious to each other? It was like something of the damn Jerry Springer Show, all they were missing was the overly opinionated crowds and the big DNA reveal. </p><p>             But release Dean she did, curling her still shaking arms around her own waist, as she all but curled into herself, chin trembling as she tried vainly to calm herself the fuck down. But it was as she did that, that she noticed for the first time that Adam wasn't at her side, he wasn't even on the same side of the damn room as her. With a confused frown, Sandy tilted her head at her brother, who by all accounts looked the perfect picture of concern, and yet . . . he made no moved to come and comfort her himself. </p><p>             Now, Sandy was by no means an attention-whore who needed to be doted on by all, but she couldn't for the life of her come up with one single time in her life when she needed comfort where Adam hadn't readily been right there at her side already, no asking needed. He took his big-brother role seriously, always had, to the point it was almost smothering at times. And yet, he just sat there while two strangers did it for him, with those unrecognisably cold eyes looking out from a painfully familiar face. </p><p>              And if she dared to look deeper into those eyes, she'd swear he almost looked to be <em>enjoying</em> her pain.</p><p>             "You alright there, Sandy?" Same asked of her softly, squatting down right before her, while Dean took a seat directly to her left on the same sofa as her, both close and yet thankfully not crowding her. </p><p>             She couldn't seem to able to stop her hands shaking long enough to form words, as she flicked her eyes away from the stranger wearing her brother's skin, settling them upon Sam's kind green eyes. His worry was earnest and sweet, as was Dean's, if only a little awkwarder and gruffer than his brother's. With a little jerk of a nod, as her breathing finally evened out to a more manageable rhythm, unable to muster up a smile of reassurance, not that she actually thought that they'd buy it even if she could. </p><p>             "I think we should take this back to our motel, Sam," Dean said to his brother, with his next words spoken carefully, paired with covert looks that Sandy was too tired to even bother being curious by, "It ain't safe <em>here</em>, not now we know their mom was taken from her own bedroom; especially since we still don't know <em>why</em> she was targeted yet."</p><p>             "Yeah, you're right," Sam readily agreed, running a tired hand through his long-ish brunette locks, before pushing himself up to his full height, causing him to unintentionally tower over her like some great hulking shadow . . . a shadow with the eyes of a sad puppy. "You good, Sandy?"</p><p>             With another jerky nod, Sandy did manage to smile this time, weak and as fake as it was, but it was still an improvement in her book, as she pushed herself to her own feet as he stepped back to give her room to do so. She wanted to cross the room and sink herself into Adam's side, to take his hand so she had something to cling to, to not feel so adrift - but <em>that</em> wasn't Adam.  </p><p>             It was a ridiculous thought to even consider, she knew - It was crazy! - but that wasn't the boy she had grown up alongside. Sure, it had his face, his voice, even his mannerisms. But didn't have his warmth, his compassion, his eyes - still just as blue as they always were - only they weren't <em>his</em> eyes. No, this Adam's eyes were cold and unfeeling, and it made all the hair on Sady's arms stand on end every time they locked on her own, it was like he was looking <em>into</em> her and not at her. It was unsettling, especially since it looked at her with the face of her own brother, like something out of that 1993 horror movie, Body Snatchers. </p><p>             So, when it came to splitting up, with Sam and Dean leaving to head back to their motel, while Adam stayed long enough to call the cops about that they had found, as he was all but ordered to do so by Dean, Sandy's panic returned with a vengeance. Sandy turned to Dean as he and Sam made to leave the house, while Adam was busy making his call, hands snapping out to grab Dean's wrist as subtly as she could, nails unintendedly digging into his flesh in the wake of her fear. She did not want to get left with not-Adam, especially not all by herself, because whether she could explain it rationally or not, that was <em>not</em> her brother. </p><p>             "<em>Can I come with you, please</em>," Sandy signed to her two new brothers, only one of which she was sure was following her rapid motions, while she stood before them, with her back strategically facing Adam as he talked to the police one room away. "<em>He's . . . I</em> <em>. . .</em> " she floundered with a frown, chin trembling again, as she fretted over how to convey her concerns, it's not as if she could just come out and say she was now pretty sure that clone-happy-aliens had body-snatched her brother, now could she? She thought <em>herself</em> crazy just thinking about it. "<em>He's not acting . . . normal . . . it's scaring me. Please, don't leave me alone here with him</em>."</p><p>             "Ah, sure, kid," Dean was the first to speak, only after Sam had finished translating her silent words lowly for him, but only after sharing a long look with Sam, who was the first to look to gave given into her plea with a softening look and nod, "Just let your brother know, okay, we'll meet you by the car."</p><p>             "<em>No!</em>" She was quick to move, eyes wide and growing wet with fear, "<em>No, wait here. Don't leave me alone with him</em>."</p><p>             "Alright, calm down, we won't leave you," Sam reassured her gently, sharing another weighted look with his brother, as he placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder, looking startled as she all but dove into his side, tucking herself into his large frame like a little kid.</p><p>             It was embarrassingly pathetic, she knew, but she couldn't seem to help herself at that moment, especially as not-Adam came out to join them in the hallway. He didn't even question why she was tucked into Sam's side, a man she didn't even know, something that would have definitely caused her Adam some need for concern - more proof that this wasn't <em>her</em> Adam.</p><p>             "Ah, we're gonna' take Sandy back to our motel with us," Dean explained to Adam, who didn't even look to care, as he stood there before them, hands tucked casually into his jean pockets, and shoulders lose like he didn't have a care in the world. "She . . . uh . . . she doesn't wanna' be in the house right now. So we're gonna go, before the cops get here, but come to our motel after, okay - Sam, give Adam our motel room number."</p><p>             Sam recited the motel and room number without missing a beat, as Dean opened the door, and Adam just nodded without looking fazed like <em>this</em> was all normal, like her acting like a scared kid of six and not sixteen was normal. She couldn't bear to look at <em>him</em> anymore, she just . . . she couldn't see those eyes paired with her brother's face, she just couldn't take it any more, so instead, she tucked her face against Sam and let him lead her out of the house under the protection of his freakishly large arm. </p><p>              She didn't wanna' let him go, not even to get into the impala, a car she had been dying to get into just a few hours before, but knew she had to - she was being too clingy, but given the truly fucked-up turn her life had taken, who could really blame her for being a little needy. So she released Sam's top with great reluctance, as Dean held open the door to the back of the car for her, with Sam moving to the passenger door on the other side of the car once it closed behind her. </p><p>             Before he could get in, Dean halted him with a soft call of "Sam" as he moved to his own door, "If he's scaring his own sister enough for her to not wanna' be near him . . ."</p><p>             "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," Sam agreed with Dean's trailed off words, like he knew exactly what his brother was getting at, "We should keep an eye on him, and keep her away from him for now, she looks one more brush away from a full break down."</p><p>             "You're not wrong," Dean agreed, sending her a gentle smile through her window before they finally moved to join her in the car, no doubt they thought that she couldn't hear them through the glass.</p><p>             But even though he closed the door, paired with their lowered voices, Sandy could hear them just fine, even if she didn't quite understand why they were taking her concerns so seriously. Hell, even <em>she</em> didn't know why she was taking her own concerns so seriously! It was madness - it was Adam! - it had to be. Aliens weren't real, for God's sake! She was just stressed and seriously in need of a good nights sleep, that was all. But even as she told herself that, she looked back to her house, meeting his cold gaze as he stood in the still-open doorway, and knew it in her very soul that <em>that</em> . . . that <em>thing</em> looking back at her wasn't Adam. </p><p>             It made her wonder, for the first time since she began building her ridiculous and completely improbable, and yet totally happening as we speak theory, of body-snatching aliens, that if <em>that</em> wasn't Adam . . . then <em>where</em> was the real Adam? </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. CH03, Untold Horrors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So . . . I've gotten no feedback on this story yet, so I don't actually know if anyone is even really liking it, but here's another chapter anyways. I really should be focusing on my other story (the game of thrones one I started forever and a day ago), the one I actually know people are eager for me to update, but . . . I need a break from that for now and my brain is 'Devil's Trap' shaped right now lol. Here's to hoping that at least someone out there is joying this fic! x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>             <strong>T</strong>heir motel room was not a place her mom would have ever let her or Adam stay, that was for sure, it was the type of place where the possibility of catching something from the sheets was a real concern. But Sam and Dean didn't look to be even the slightest bit bothered by it, so Sandy pulled up her big-girl panties and braved sitting on one of the twin beds, trying not to think about what she'd probably find if she ran a blue-light over it. </p><p>             She remained there, now laying upon that questionable bed, just watching her new brothers go about the room around her in silent observation, quickly learning that she did not particularly have much in common with them on the surface level, that was for sure. They moved and spoke like soldiers, communicating more so with their eyes than their actual months, which left Sandy near completely left out of the loop more often than not. Not that she found herself much minding that moment, their silent company was all that she needed presently: with Dean sitting at the two-person dining table, cleaning a shotgun, of all things like it was a normal thing to be doing; while Sam sat upon the other twin, the one closest to the door, with his laptop resting open on his thighs and his fingers tapping away a mile a minute.</p><p>             Research, he had called it, for what though . . . Sandy didn't dare ask. She got the feeling she wouldn't much like the answer she got, so instead, she curled up, hands tucked deep into the sleeves of her jumper and accepted his vagueness, at least for now.  </p><p>             They had tried to make conversation with her at first, or at least, <em>Sam</em> had, but Sandy was too tired and they could tell, not like she could hide the wear and tear on her face from the stress of the hell-storm that was now her life. Sam was the one to suggest that she lay down, and she was thankful to him for it, not having realised just how exhausted she was until her head it the rather flat pillow. She'd even almost managed to nod off too when a knock sounded on the door, a truly amazing feat given that she had barely managed to sleep a wink in days, not without the aid of a sleeping pill first.</p><p>             Dean was the first to react, hands pausing in his cleaning, head-turning sharply to face the wood of the door with a cautious look that set her frayed nerves on edge once more. Wide awake once again, Sandy slowly pushed herself up on the bed, as Sam placed his laptop off to the side on his, moving to open the door. He did so with a hand coming up to the gun that Sandy was just realising that he had tucked into the back of his jeans, as he looked out of the spy-hole first, before only then opening it to reveal Adam, who all but charged into the room.</p><p>              "Who the hell <em>are</em> you people?" Adam voiced as he halted in the middle of the room, eyeing the newly re-built shotgun just casually resting on the table, which Dean promptly moved to flip a piece of cloth over to cover, clearly reading Adam's discomfort for what it was.</p><p>             Even Sandy had to agree with the not-Adam-clone here, at least at first, the sight of the weapon had given her pause too. She had never even <em>seen</em> a gun in real life before entering this room, her mom was a big supporter of the banning of all guns period, having seen her fair share of shootings in her long career as a nurse to have a soiled view on them as a whole. So, seeing such a big and very intimidating weapon casually resting on the fucking dining table like it was no more than a phone, had understandably freaked Sandy out a little. Okay, like <em>a lot</em>, but right now she wasn't gonna' complain, they clearly had more pressing issues at hand to deal with, like the fact that not-Adam was back and sticking with his staring role.</p><p>              "Take it easy," Sam tried to reassure, and oddly enough his soothing words did for Sandy somewhat, not so much Adam, who backed himself away from the two other men.</p><p>              "<em>No</em>, don't tell me to take it easy, okay?" Adam exclaimed, suddenly finding his lacking worry and fear, of which was a little too late to be convincing for Sandy, "My house is a crime scene, my mom's probably dead, and you two - well, you tell me to call the cops, but you got to bail before they show? So, <em>who</em> are you really?"</p><p>             Silence met his words, and Sandy found it more telling than anything, clearly, they weren't just mechanics. They were her brothers though, she could see that clearly just by looking at them, she looked too much like a smaller, blonder, feminized version of Dean for it not to be the truth. Not to mention the fact that they were both a little too chill about weird and truly horrifying: you're mom's missing - sure, let's go take a look; claw marks leaving down a small, dark, and creep vent - sure, let's go down there and investigate; your brother scaring you for no apparent reason that we can see with our own eyes - <em>sure</em>, come with us, girl we've only just met. </p><p>             "Cops didn't know where to look for my mom, Dean, but <em>you</em> did, and I heard you talking earlier - something about grave robberies," Adam paused in his accusatory point making, as he eyed the end of the shotgun poking out from under the cloth again, "You're <em>not</em> mechanics. I just want to know what's going on."</p><p>             More silence.</p><p>             "Please," Adam added, focusing his wide eyes upon Sam, clearly seeing he was the weak link of the two brothers, at least when it came to puppy-dog eyes.</p><p>             "We're hunters," Sam explained vaguely. Like <em>that</em> explained anything at all, hunters of what exactly? Because animal hunters shouldn't know how to search a house for clues better than a cop.</p><p>             "Sammy!" Dean shouted, shooting his brother an angry aghast look of disbelief, as he shot up from his seat at the table.</p><p>             "They deserve to know, Dean," Sam defended, right as Adam followed up with the very question that she had been just wondering, "What do you mean, 'hunters'?"</p><p>             Unsurprisingly, it was Sam who answered again, while Dean dropped back into his seat with an angry shake of his head. And the answer was even crazier than Sandy's half-cocked Alien body-snatching theory, and yet, it gave her a sense of calm, almost, simply by understanding that it was possible. That, without the crazy, there was just questions with no answers, and that was scarier than anything else to Sandy right now. The idea of wondering what had happened to her family for the rest of her life, no answers, and no tangible body to bury or morn . . . it was just <em>so</em> open-ended. At least this way, as crazy as it <em>undeniably</em> was, she would have the truth, and there was some small amount of closure in that. </p><p>             But that didn't make Sam's next monologue of words any less terrifying, in fact, she was justifiably more scared after than she had been before he opened his mouth, an impressive feat to say the least.</p><p>             "Okay," Adam sounded, in the perfect imitation of dazed wonder, from his seat on the twin beside her own, "So . . . basically, you're saying that every movie monster, every nightmare that I’ve ever had, that's all real?"</p><p>             "Godzilla's just a movie," Dean countered snarkily from his seat at the dining table, where he was working his way through cleaning yet another gun, because of course, why <em>wouldn't</em> the monster hunter would have more than just the one gun? </p><p>             "We hunt them," Sam contained, completely ignoring his brother and his unhelpful commentary, "So did our Dad."</p><p>             <em>Makes sense</em>, she couldn't help but think, realising in that moment why John had had to leave and not visit for so long now, even when she could see in his face he wanted to stay, a look she hadn't let herself acknowledge until right here and now. It was easier to think he was simply a dead-beat dad that didn't wanna' spend any time with her more than he thought he had to, rather than to think of him as a man who wanted to know her but couldn't for some unknown reason. A reason that made sense to her now - he was trying to protect her. That was why he didn't tell her about his life, about San and Dean, who he had raised into that life too.</p><p>             Part of her was resentful to John for it, but then she thought about her mom and the real Adam, of the life she had had with them - it had been perfect - a life where she had lived in ignorant bliss, happy, and surrounded by love. It was a good life, the life she could see that her brothers were robbed of, even if they couldn't see that sad truth themselves. They knew nothing of what a real home was, they didn't even know what the proper use of a dining room table was obviously, or what it was like to not feel the need to carry a gun tucked into the back of their jeans everywhere they went. And that made her unbearably sad, and no small part angry at the man who had raised them up like soldiers, because she could already tell from her brief time spent with that they deserved better. </p><p>             "Okay," not-Adam breathed out with a nod as Sam finished his info-bomb of their job description.</p><p>             "<em>Okay?</em>" Dean prompted with a scrutinising look sent Adam's way, pausing in his gun-cleaning, as he turned to give not-Adam his full attention, "<em>That's</em> it?"</p><p>             "What am I supposed to say?" Not-Adam demanded with a shrug of his shoulders.</p><p>             An overall <em>too</em> casual look that had her giving him a 'what the fuck' look herself - she knew without a doubt in her heart that her Adam would have already grabbed her and left the moment he first saw the shotgun, let alone sat and heard all of the crazy Sam had just dropped on them, not just sit there and shrug like they were talking about the damn weather.  </p><p>             "That we're liars, that we're crazy," Dean all but shouted, as he put his gun down with a small manner of force, pushing himself from his seat, adding, "<em>Nobody</em> just says okay."</p><p>             He's not wrong there, Sandy silently agreed. Had she not already whole-heartedly believed that her brother had been swapped with an alien (which sounds ridiculous now that she realised that they were probably just dealing with some kind of body-snatching monster) she might have called him crazy herself, or at least signed it. So, believe them she did, if only because she could see one of their supposed monsters sitting right before her wearing her brother's skin, hard to doubt them in the wake of that.</p><p>             "Well, you're my sister's brothers," Adam shrugged again, words the very opposite to what the real Adam would have said, he was a prove-it-first kind of guy, he didn't believe in blind faith in the slightest, "You're telling me the truth, right?"</p><p>             "Yeah," Dean confirmed, eyes still very much narrowed on not-Adam suspiciously. </p><p>             "Then I believe you," Adam stated, before turning back to Sam, demanding to know, "Now, what took our mom?"</p><p>             "We're not sure," Sam admitted with a soft sigh, looking down at his feet briefly, before adding, "Something's in town stealing bodies, living and dead, but we don't know what."</p><p>             Sandy had heard about that, no one in town hadn't, it was a small town and not much happened here after all - at least, she knew about the dead bodies, that is, the 'living' part was still news to her. But clearly, they didn't need to be dead to be taken, they had gotten her mom and Adam too, after all, and the last time she had seen them they were both very much alive and kicking. </p><p>             "There's a long list of freaks that fit the bill," Dean informed, as he took his seat once again, gun back in one hand and cloth in the other.</p><p>             "You think maybe she might still be alive?" Not-Adam asked softly, eyes forging sad and yet hopeful at the same time, the sight made her stomach turn violently.</p><p>             Whatever that <em>thing</em> was parading around in her brother's body, it <em>knew</em> she wasn't, that Sandy's mom was already dead. It had to right? What were the odds of two unrelated monsters just hanging about in a town this small, weren't monsters supposed to be hard to find or something, <em>right</em>? No, it had to know and was just play some sick game with them, for what end game though? What did it hope to achieve by doing this? It had clearly killed her mom, taken her brother, who was probably dead too now that she thought about it, though she <em>really</em> was trying not to let her thoughts follow that dark path, and was now role-playing in his body. Even monsters had to have a motive . . . right? It was all too . . . thought out and sadistic for it to be truly senseless. </p><p>             Clearly agreeing with her, at least in regards to her mom, Dean looks down in silent sympathy, prompting not-Adam to turn to Sam for answers, who in-turn looks down just as his brother had - it was a telling silence if there ever was one. Sandy turned away from them all, laying back down on her chosen bed, unable to bear watching fake grief for her dead mom on that imposters face anymore.</p><p>             "Oh," Not-Adam sounded out in the perfect expression of sorrow, waiting a moment to appear appropriately grief-stricken, no doubt, before adding with a determined, "How can I help?"</p><p>             She barely contained her snort as Dean dead-panned, "You <em>can't,</em>" leaving no room for argument on the matter, as he continued to clean his gun.</p><p>             "This thing killed my mom," not-Adam shout back in mock outrage, "If you're hunting it, I want in."</p><p>             "No," Dean shot down, not even sparing not-Adam a courtesy look.</p><p>             "Dean, look, maybe -" Sam tried to reason in not-Adam's favour, only to be cut off rather harshly by Dean, as he put aside his gun again, demanding of his brother, "Maybe <em>what</em>?"</p><p>             "He lost his mother," Sam stated with an arched look that gave understanding for Sandy as his next words were added, "Maybe we can understand what that feels like."</p><p>             So she'd guess correctly then, their mom - Mary - was dead after all. Turning over, Sandy trailed her red-rimmed eyes over to Dean, noting the tensing growing steadily in his shoulders and face, jaw locked angrily, and eyes hard, causing her own to swim with understanding compassion. He could see what she had realised earlier, that John had his reasons for keeping her away from them and their life, and if 'Adam' was to be dragged into it then so would she be. Dean clearly did not want that for her, if the frowning eyes of green now locked on her own were anything to go by, he wanted to protect her just as John had tried so vainly to do. </p><p>             "Why do you think Dad never told us about Sandy, Sam?" Dean demanded of his brother, stepping up to him slightly, eyes hard and firmly back on the giant stood before him, "Huh? Why do you think he <em>ripped</em> out the pages?"</p><p>             "Because -" Sam started, only to be harshly cut off by Dean shouting the answer for him, "Because he was protecting her!"</p><p>             "Dad's dead, Dean," Sam argued, like that null and void everything he was trying to do while he lived, and Sandy couldn't help but be a little hurt that he'd want to drag her into this life of his, uncaring whether it was best for her or not, or if she even wanted any part in it in the first place. </p><p>             "That doesn't matter!" Dean countered, arms coming up in frustration before him, as he tried to make his brother see reason, "He didn't want Sandy to have our lives, okay? And we are gonna respect his wishes."</p><p>             "Do we get a say in this?" Not-Adam asked like <em>he</em> actually had a right to have a say on the matter.</p><p>             "No!" Dean turned and shouted in answer at not-Adam, startling him enough that he leaned back a little where he still sat on the other town bed. With that said and done with, Dean headed for the door, grabbing his jacket as his went, shoot a "Babysit the kids" over his shoulder as he went.</p><p>             "Where are you going?" Sam called out to his back, only to get an angry shout of "I'm going out!" in response as the door slammed closed behind him.</p><p>             Knowing that she wouldn't have long if she wanted to catch up to him, which she very much did, not wanting to be left in the same room with not-Adam without at least <em>both</em> of her new hunter brothers for double protection, Sandy jumped up, startling Sam with how quick and sudden she moved.</p><p>             Rushing to the door, she paused after opening it only long enough to shoot a confused Sam a quick, "<em>I'm going with Dean</em>," hoping that he understood sign-language well-enough to understand her rushed hand motions, before turning tail and all but sprinting to the impala thankfully parked right out front of the room. </p><p>             Dean was just pulling the driver's door open when she rushed up to the passenger side, pulling it open and climbing in before he could even think to put up an argument, which she was pretty sure he was gonna' do any moment now anyway. He just stood there for a moment, before he lent down and ordered her to, "Get out, kid."</p><p>              She just shook her head firmly once for a clear 'no', arms crossing across her chest, before turning her face to lock stubbornly upon the front windshield, all but ignoring the angry twitch that her refusal had caused to spasm in his face. After a minute - a <em>long</em> minute - Dean relented with a muttered "fuck" and finally climbed into the impala alongside her. </p>
<hr/><p>             <strong>S</strong>o, if the last two and a half hours of her life had taught Sandy anything, it was that driving around in a car with your mysterious new brother, who couldn't understand you, who also refused to let you leave the car the two times he did for his 'sole-investigating', made for a truly boring series of events. </p><p>             Sandy had tried to join him when he exited the car at the cemetery, but he had just ordered her to "stay" like she was a dog, he'd even cracked a window for her, the ass-hole, while he busied himself in the boot of the car. He wasn't there for long, coming back around to her side of the car in a suit, of all things, not like he was gonna' be gate-crashing any funerals this late at night. </p><p>             She had brought her hands up to sign out her questions, but of course, Dean just frowned down at her cluelessly, as he lent down against the open window edge. <em>That was going to have to change</em>, she thought with an irritated huff. If she was going to be with them from now on, which she highly suspected she would be, considering that he and Sam were all she had left now, he was going to have to learn to communicate with her at some point - sooner rather than later would be preferable.</p><p>             With a vague and entirely unhelpful "Stay - I'll be right back" both times, at the cemetery and the bar they visited next, Dean left her sitting in his car without the keys, so she couldn't even listen to music, the sadistic dick. And by 'right back', he actually meant at least fifteen minutes the first time, and straight-up an hour and a half the second, where he came back smelling like a bar-stool. He got the stink-eye from her that time, which in turn got a sigh from him and a grumbled, "I was undercover, kid, can't go into a bar and <em>not</em> drink. Looks suspicious."</p><p>             She was sure it did, didn't mean she wasn't pissed for having being resorted to being benched for the whole time he was 'undercover'. She could have been helpful, she literally knew everyone in town, just like everyone knew her. He'd had to weasel the information from people, while she could have simply just <em>asked: </em>Mr Roy, the cemetery director lives across the street from her, she'd known him the whole of her life; and Lisa, the bartender of the bar Dean had headed into, used to babysit Sandy and Adam when they were little kids, and their mom had nights at the hospital. </p><p>             But she supposed, given the way he was raised, trust probably didn't come easy to him and Sam. That was fine, she'd just have to show him he could trust her, no matter how long it took. Sandy was nothing if not patient, you kinda had to be when you were mute in the world, it took people a hot-minute half the time to even realise she couldn't just answer them as easily as they threw questions at her - yet another reason why she preferred homeschooling. </p><p>             Bored of the silence as Dean drove them back to the motel, Sandy opened the glove-compartment, ignoring Dean's irritated exclaim of "Hey!", as she examed the cassette tapes he had in there. Like <em>really</em> . . . who even had cassette tapes still? But she'd give it to him though, he had good taste in music, classic rock was where it was at in her oh-so-humble opinion, they just don't make songs like that anymore. So with an honest smile, the first she'd managed in days, Sandy plucked the tape labelled <strong>AC/DC Mix </strong>and stuck it into the car's Cassette tape slot. </p><p>             She carefully stacked the handful of tapes she had taken out back into the glove-compartment, right as that all-too-familiar guitar opening sounded throughout the car, followed by that repetitive "<em>Thunder, thunder, thunder, thunder</em>" that Sandy couldn't help but nod her head in time with. </p><p>             With a light laugh, Dean turned to meet her eyes with a pleased smile, proclaiming, "You like good music - you <em>really </em>are related to me, huh?"</p><p>             With a soundless laugh of her own, Sandy smiled at him around her mouthing along with the words, prompting him to sing along with her. He didn't seem to care that despite her mouthing, he was technically the only one singing aloud, and as long as it didn't bother him it didn't bother her, as she sang along the only way she could. It was a beautiful moment shared between them, a bonding moment in a time that was filled will nothing but fear and pain for Sandy, and just for a small moment in time . . . Sandy forgot that her world was crashing and burning down around her in slow motion. </p><p>             By the time they were pulling into the motel's parking lot, Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody was coming to a close, of which Dean had put on quite the impressive show trying to harmonise all the operatic voices by himself. It had been a terribly perfect show indeed that had her smiling and laughing so hard her face hurt from it. But just like all things good lately, it came to an abrupt and brutal close, as they pulled in to see Sam and not-Adam fighting off something trying to pull Sam under Adam's truck. </p><p>             "Dean, help!" Not-Adam shouted, as Sandy and Dean all but threw themselves from the car in their haste, neither stopping to even second guess their impulsive actions.</p><p>             With not-Adam grabbing one of Sam's arms and Dean the other to pull him free, Sandy had no other place to grab to help but his leg, which given that it was half under the car was a truly <em>stupid</em> idea - she'd freely admit. But given the situation, she'd forgive herself not thinking clearly, how often does one see their brother get dragged under a car by a mysterious body-snatching monster, after all? </p><p>             But it wasn't until Dean let go of Sam in order to rush back to the car, causing Sam to be dragged farther under the truck, that her questionable placement showed it's self to be truly problematic. Still holding his leg, Sandy was yanked farther under the car along with it, and whatever it was that was under there had clearly decided it wanted her more, as it let go of Sam altogether and latched onto her within a crushing vice that felt eerily like human hands. </p><p>             Letting out a silent scream, Sandy let go of Sam's leg too, bring up the hand not held by the still unseen monster to push against the truck. Sam, having realised what had happened, grabbed her, with his arms wrapping tightly around her waist in a painfully tight grip. But considering if he let go she'd stand no chance of fighting the grabby monster off by herself, Sandy wasn't gonna' complain, she'll deal with the bruises later - survive now!</p><p>             Not-Adam made the show of helping, grabbing her arm, but there was no real effort behind it, a few half-hearted tugs that literally did nothing to help her - not that she was surprised by that point. She was, however, surprised as the sound of a gun firing behind her sounded, causing her heart to shutter in startled fear at just how loud it was.</p><p>             Flicking a panicked look over her shoulder, nearly blinding herself with the sheer mass that was her blonde mane, Sandy could do little but gape in awe up at Dean, as he cocked his gun again and aimed for the dark below the truck. It was with another bang of the gun, that he managed to get a pained grunt from beneath it for his efforts, freeing Sandy. With a pained hiss of her own, Sandy flopped back into Sam behind her, pulling her now bruised wrist into her chest, as she allowed him to put all the effort into getting them both away from the truck and what lay beneath it.</p><p>             "Sammy - Sandy, you both alright?" Dean asked briskly, as he crossed to stand between them and the truck, gun still held at the ready, while not-Adam sat uselessly off to the side.</p><p>             Reaching around her, Sam took her wrist gently in hand, turning it this way and that under the light of the street light overhead, assessing that she was in fact okay. "Yeah, bit bruised, but we're okay."</p><p>             "Adam," Dean snapped to get not-Adam's attention, not once taking his eyes off the belly of the truck, "Get in and pull it forward."</p><p>             After a moment's pause, not-Adam did as he was ordered, pulling his keys from his jean's pocket as he climbed to his feet. Sandy noticed with narrowed eyes, that he didn't even look down at the belly of the truck himself with fake caution, just walked right up and climbed in, no fear or hesitation there. The damn dick knew he wasn't gonna' get hurt, whatever it was, it was just like him too, she'd bet.</p><p>             She kept her eyes locked on the truck as it backed out of the space, even as Sam pulled her to her feet, she looked, wanting to see the monster with her own two eyes. But nothing was there, nothing save for a sewer grate, which was left half-open and coated in blood on the edge. </p><p>             "I winged it," Dean announced, as he turned to them, where Sam had managed to herd her back over to the impala, keeping an arm around as he did so, to which she was grateful for. "Did either of you see anything?"</p><p>             "I didn't get a good look," Sam said with a shake of his head. </p><p>             "What the hell is this thing?" Dean exclaimed in frustration, as he slammed his shotgun in the now open trunk of the impala, that had her gaping in awed shock - it was like Buffy's wet-dream in there.</p><p>             Shaking off her dazed-catching-flies look, Sandy turned to Sam, tapping his arm to get his attention. When she had it, she carefully signed with her now sore arm and a grimace on her face, "<em>It felt like a human hand that grabbed me. But it was freakishly strong, and it held me one-handed, and yet both of us couldn't pull free from it.</em>"</p><p>             "Why - who - should we go after it?" Not-Adam played flustered scared, quite impressively. Somebody give this douche-bag an oscar already. </p><p>             "No, no. In that maze?" Dean shot him a 'you kidding me?' look before shaking his head, adding, "That thing's long gone."</p><p>             "All right, so, we don't know what it is, but we do know <em>who</em> it's going after," Sam summarised, "Joe Barton, your guy's mom -"</p><p>             "And Sandy and Adam," Dean finished for him, sharing a look of understanding with his brother, "It was under his truck, just waiting for him, and when it saw a chance to get Sandy it just let you go, Sam." </p><p>             "It set a trap," Sam realised with a pang of guilt clear to hear, and a self-berating look painting his face, as his arm tightened protectively around Sandy, "And I walked right into it."</p><p>             "Doesn't matter," Dean brushed off, "You're right - there's a pattern. Joe Barton was a cop. I'm pretty sure he helped out Dad. So we've got him, Dad's girl, her son, and the love-child she had with dad."</p><p>             "All the people Dad knew in town," Sam concluded with an agreeing nod. </p><p>             "At least we know <em>why</em> it's back," Dean offered out with a huff, and Sandy couldn't help but agree with his half-hearted attempt at bolstering their confidences somewhat - it may not seem like much, but it was more than they knew this morning, and that had to count for something. </p><p>             "It wants revenge," Not-Adam added ominously, drawing all their attentions to him, only her's were knowing.</p><p>             What he really meant was '<strong>I</strong>' want revenge, though, for what, Sandy still didn't know. She wanted desperately to grab Sam and Dean, pull them away from the monster stood right before them, and tell them what she already knew. But she knew that it would just be her word against not-Adam's, despite the fact that she was their half-sister, neither of the Winchester's knew her well enough yet to trust her at her word. And as she had already realised from her time spent with Dean tonight, it was that they didn't trust easily - no, there would be no giving not-Adam a perfect window to put doubt in her brother's minds against her - she'd just have to bide her time for now.</p><p>             So when Dean packed them all into the impala, and Sandy was forced to sit right next to <em>it</em>, she bit her tongue and looked out her window. Thankful that the drive back to her house from the motel wasn't a long one, though it certainly felt like it now that Dean had turned the music off so that he could talk to Sam quietly. Not-Adam didn't attempt to talk to her, thank God, she could barely bear to look at it as it was, wearing her brother's skin like a cheap suit to prom. </p><p>             It just sat there, quietly watching her brothers with a focused attention that caused unease to flutter to life in her belly. It had already taken her mom and the brother she already had from her, she'd be damned if it thought that she was just gonna' sit back meekly and let it take the only family she had left, even if that family was in the form of two strangers. She couldn't fight her way out of a paper bag even if it was soaking wet, she knew that about herself, but she was sure she could be scrappy when it counts. Plus, she had no problem clawing not-Adam's offending eyes clean out of her brother's face if she had to, nor was she apposed to giving a well-aimed kick to the groin if the opportunity presented itself, she was not above cheap shots. </p><p>             Dean was first through the door, giving the house a quick sweep-over with Sam, while she stood out front with not-Adam before either of them were allowed to enter. Not that she particularly wanted to, enter her own house that is, every inch of it was tainted now - she walked the halls, and instead of hearing the relative clucking of her boots, she heard her mother's terrified screams as she fought for her life. And fought Sandy knowns that she did, it filled her with sorrowful pride to know that, but it also broke her heart that she was even in a situation where she had had to do so in the first place. </p><p>             "Grab your stuff," Dean ordered of her and not-Adam, as he came back towards the front door, with Sam hot on his heels, "We'll hit the road."</p><p>             Not-Adam didn't have to be told twice as he headed straight upstairs. But Sandy hesitated when Sam sats at the kitchen table and Dean didn't look to be moving to follow her and not-Adam up the stairs himself. She did not want to be left up there alone with that <em>thing</em>, she'd rather leave everything she owes to rot rather than go up there and pack in the room next to where she knew it currently was. She tried, she really did, got as far as the second step when fear gripped her breath tight in her chest, forcing her to retreat back to the kitchen where she left Sam and Dean. </p><p>             "We shouldn't leave," she heard Sam say as she got to the door resting at a jar, with a thump following his words, as he brought his injured ankle up onto the kitchen-chair facing his own. </p><p>             Neither of them had noticed her return yet, and Dean's next words were proof of that, "Yeah, let's stay here, where our kid sister's mom got ganked. Good one."</p><p>             Despite the flinch his blunt words caused in her, she also couldn't help the soft flutter in her chest at hearing him call her his sister, his first spoken acknowledgement of that fact. </p><p>             "I'm serious," Sam insisted before she could make an interruption.</p><p>             Sandy knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping on them, but she knew they would clam up the moment she made herself known, and she wanted to hear Sam's reasoning for staying in a monster-infested house. He was the one that had insisted that they come back tonight, while Dean had suggested that they just leave with Sandy and not-Adam, take them to someone called Bobby. And Sandy had been all for that idea, hearing the trust her brother had for the unknown man as clear as day in his voice, but Sam had argued that they couldn't just leave with the clothes on their backs to their names.</p><p>             "No, Sam, we're gonna take those kids, we're gonna drop him off at Bobby's, and then you and me are gonna come back here and finish what Dad started," Dean refused, speaking with certainly, leaving no room for argument.</p><p>             Yep, Sandy was all for that idea. Whoever and wherever this Bobby was, had to be somewhere better than here, where there were literal monsters hell-bent on getting their grabby hands on her. Though she could do without not-Adam tagging along with them, but given by just how competent Sam and Dean seemed to be in this world of horror, she was sure that with a little more time around him that they'll be able to tell that not-Adam wasn't <em>ri</em><em>ght </em>sooner rather than later. </p><p>             "How? We got no leads, no witnesses," Sam argued back in exasperation, "We do have what this thing wants."</p><p>             "You want to use our kid sister and her brother as <em>bait</em>?" Dean asked as horrifiedly as aghast as Sandy now was, with her shaking hands coming up to cover her mouth with the too-long sleeves of her jumper to stifle her gasp, "<em>That's</em> why you want to stay here?"</p><p>             "Maybe this thing will come back," Sam tried to defend weakly, "We could leave Sandy back at the motel and train Adam - get him ready."</p><p>             "He could die, Sam," Dean stated brutally honest, "And we'd be leaving Sandy alone and defenceless someplace that the thing has already looked for her once." </p><p>             "We could all die, Dean," Sam rebuffed coldly, making Sandy reassess the '<em>gentle</em>-giant' association she had formed for the tallest of her new brothers in her head, "Even if we do kill this thing, there are tons of other freaks that want revenge, on Dad, on us. What if they find Sandy instead and she's not ready?"</p><p>             Finally pushing the door all the way open, getting twin looks of surprise from the men inside of the kitchen, Sandy shot Sam a wet-eyed look as he paused in wrapping his ankle to take in her look with guilty eyes. She just shook her head with a trembling chin, letting him know that she'd probably heard more than he had cared for her to, as she crossed the kitchen to grab Dean's wrist, all but dragging him out of the room and passed a returning not-Adam.</p><p>             Despite the fact that not-Adam now wasn't upstairs anymore, Sandy was still afraid to be up there alone, after all, her mother had been upstairs alone too, and look what happened to her. Plus, Sandy knew there was more than one monster running around now since not-Adam had been right beside her when the other had attacked them. To put it plainly, Sandy simply didn't want to be alone right now, not only was she was feeling a little fragile after hearing Sam's cold words, but she was pretty certain her mom, at the very least, had been brutally murdered down the hall from the bedroom she had grown up in. </p><p>             Dean allowed her to pull up to the stairs with little to no protest, if only because he was uncomfortable with the tears staining her freckled cheeks, prompting him to follow her right to her room at the far end of the upper hallway without comment. He did let out a snort as she led the way into her room, of which was messy enough for her to be embarrassed, as she kicked some week-old laundry under the bed with a shrug. Not her fault, she had more pressing things to worry about then doing her laundry, of which she was totally on top of usually.</p><p>             She had always been proud to say that her room was not your typical teenage girl's room, it looked more like a library-meets-recond-shop, with her pale grey walls adorned floor to ceiling with an array of different sized picture frames, sporting all the art, book/movie quotes and posters she had collected over the years. It was her bat-cave, of sorts, the place where she felt most at home in the whole world, totally free to be herself without refrain. </p><p>             She went straight to the large black-steel wardrobe in the far corn of her room, pulling the tie-dyed curtain covering the front of it aside, reaching up to tug the large duffle bag she kept on the top shelf inside it down. Sandy and Adam had made that tie-dye curtain years ago now, one summer when her mom was at work - they'd gone a little mad with the dyes actually - no white material had been safe once they were through that day, not even their mom's kitchen towels had made it through their craft project. </p><p>              With a little sniffle, Sandy released the tight grip she hadn't realised she held upon the curtain, before letting it go altogether in favour of flinging the bag open on the floor at her feet, as she went about filling it with some clothes. She didn't worry too much with what she was picking, a fashion guru she was not, being sure that she picked at least two of everything to be on the save side. Two pairs of blue jeans: her most comfortable ones, with a thick black-leather-belt to go with them; two plain t-shirts: one white, one navy-blue, both short-sleeved v-necks; two oversized jumpers: one black and hooded, while the other was a knitted monstrosity she'd picked up at a thrift shop last winter, rainbow in colour, and the most comfortable item of clothing she was sure had ever existed to date. </p><p>             Moving onto her underwear and sock draws, Sandy all but ignored Dean as he walked his way around her room nosily touching everything as he passed, paying the most interest in her vinyl record collection, she was pleased to note. It was nice, she thought softly, to have a brother who appreciated the same music as she did, Adam certainly hadn't, called it old-people music, the uncultured swine. But as he was the only thing close to a 'friend' that she had had, and while that was sad on so <em>many</em> accounts, it meant that Sandy couldn't just hang out and listen to her music with someone that wasn't her mom, which was just that little bit more pathetic really.  </p><p>             "You really do have great taste in music, kid," Dean spoke up, shooting her pleased smile from over his shoulder as he flipped his way threw the many records that she had managed to collect over the years, some that had started out as her mom's before Sandy had claimed them for her own. "Could teach Sammy a thing for two, that kid has <em>no</em> appreciation for the classics, I tell you."</p><p>             Smiling down at him, as she crossed to her bed, tugging her now full bag as she went, struggling under the weight of it with every step. With a snort of amusement, Dean stood from the four stacked wooden-cubes holding her beloved records, moving to lift the bag from her hands with very little effort. Getting an irritated huff of air from her, which in turn caused his amusement at her expense to grow all the more, as he placed her bag on top of her small-double-bed resting at the heart of the room. </p><p>             While she would have much preferred to simply box up her whole room and bring it with her, she knew she couldn't, so she settled for little knick-knacks she knew she'd reject leaving behind. Like a couple of family photos that she kept in the top drawer beside her bed, and the silver neckless that John had given her on her thirteenth birthday, the one she secretly adores but didn't wear out of petty spite, as well as her sketchbook and a few flat cases of pencils.</p><p>             Handing her neckless to Dean who frowned down at it in a moment of confusion, before she turned and lifted her hair for him. He unclasped the chain and reclasped it about her neck without fuss, but as she turned around and he got his first real look at the little circular charm now hanging between her collar-bones he frowned, reaching out with his thumb and forefinger coming up to clasp it for closer inspection. </p><p>             "This is a serious protection charm you got there, Sandy," He commented, finally letting the small penny-sized disk fall back against her skin, "I'm pretty sure it's Enochian, not that I know what it means exactly - Sam'll know better - but I know enough to know it's meant to keep you safe."</p><p>             With a bittersweet smile, Sandy mouthed "John", letting Dean know exactly where she got such a charm.</p><p>             "Don't take it off, okay?" Dean said to her, bending just slightly enough to force her green eyes to lock on his own, as his hand moved to rest upon her shoulder, "No matter what - don't take it off. I may not know exactly what it means, but if dad gave it to you, then it can only be a good thing - he wasn't always the best dad in the world, but he loved us, and he'd die a thousand times over to protect one of us."</p><p>             With a soft nod, Sandy silently promised him, signing it to him even though she knew he still had no idea what she was saying. With a nod of his own, he asked, "You done in here yet?" Again she nodded, prompting him to grasp the strap of her bag and hook it effortlessly over his shoulder, as he shepherded her out of the room ahead of him. "Good, because I'd really like to get you the hell out of here, kid."</p><p>             <em>Me and you both, bro</em>, she mentally agreed, as she led the way back downstairs, with Dean's comforting presence at her back.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. CH04, Looking into the Abyss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p><strong>               S</strong>andy had gotten more sleep on some crappy twin-bed in an equally crappy motel room - with three guys, two of which were the brothers she just met, and the other who she was pretty sure was actually a monster wearing her other brother's face - than she had in days. It didn't come easy, sleep that is, not with not-Adam laying in the other bed one meter from her own. </p><p>Sam and Dean had been pretty accommodating with them all things considered, she'd freely admit, even if Dean did so reluctantly. Not that she could really blame him, the questionably stained couch he was resorted to sleeping on didn't look all that comfortable, but he had still insisted that she take his bed regardless. He'd had taken turns with Sam in the middle of the night, being sure that at least one of them was rested enough to be on watch, just in case the other monster came back for another round.  </p><p>Knowing that at least one of them was awake and armed was the only reason she got any sleep last night, as nightmare fueled as it was, it was still at least six hours she had desperately needed. But now that she was fully charged, the differences between Adam and no-adam became glaringly obvious, it made her question how on earth it had taken her so damn long to notice it in the first place. </p><p>For one, Adam couldn't shoot for shit, because he had never held a gun in his life, not even one of those toy ones you find attached to games in the arcade. And yet, he's now apparently a "natural", and Sandy was calling bullshit big time. And watching Sam clap not-Adam congratulatory on the back set her teeth on edge, which was why she had elected to stay out of the picture with Dean, sitting on the hood of his impala as he leant back against it beside her, while Sam unknowingly bonded with a monster.    </p><p>It was actually pretty nice really, despite the fact that they were hanging out with a monster wearing her brother's face, at least the spending time with Dean part. He had even put in another cassette tape, labelled <strong>Queen's Greatest Hits</strong>, turned up loud enough for them to almost totally drown out not-Adam's voice and Sam's hunter teachings. Teachings that didn't stop the whole time they were at the make-shift shooting range, not even when they got back in the car several hours later, heading back to her house, but thankfully Dean was feeling more favourably towards her than he was his brother at that moment, meaning she got to ride shotgun.</p><p>Too bad he wasn't feeling generous enough to take her with him when he stormed out less than an hour after arriving back at the house. He'd gotten in a pretty heated argument with Sam - <em>again -</em> about hunting and their dad, and how Dean didn't want that for her, their life, he said that she deserved better than they had had. And maybe she did, she didn't particularly wanna' hunt monsters either, but they were all she had now, so if this was their lives . . . well, she was just going to have to find a way to fit into it somehow. </p><p>Which is why she was currently walking room to room, pouring salt along the line of every window and door, in an attempt to at least try and be helpful, even she honestly had no why she was actually doing it. She'd passed not-Adam several times throughout her task, as he nailed boards over every vent their little house had, a good call on Sam's part she thought. </p><p>The vent in the floor of her mom's room, however, with the grate cover still mostly off, was the only one left unsalted, as per Sam's instructions. All part of the plan he had said, the plan where she was pretty sure <em>she</em> was the bait, which still didn't sit well with her, making her mentally plead for Dean to hurry back soon - she was totally <em>not</em> okay being the carrot on the end of Sam's monster-hunting-stick.  </p><p>"All right," Sam decided, hands resting confidently on his hips, as he looked down at the vent in question, that she had just finished salting a circle around, "We've closed off every other way into the house. If this thing's coming, it's coming through here."</p><p>Sandy did not find that reassuring in the slightest, as she stepped back, clutching the heavy bag of salt to her chest as if her life depended on, because if Sam's reassurances were to be believed it actually just might. Which was why she was so damn startled by the creak of a door opening from somewhere downstairs because she had been so focused on the damn vent in front of her, that it stupidly didn't even occur for her to worry about all the other ways a monster could get in. But damn it to all hell, she had spent the better part of an hour salting those damn doors and windows, no monster should be getting in anywhere.</p><p>"You were saying?" Not-Adam asked of Sam, and surprisingly enough for her, Sandy was in full agreement with the imposter. </p><p>               "Adam! Sandy!" A heartbreakingly familiar voice called up to them.</p><p>               "Mom?" Not-Adam faked surprise, already rushing out the room, with Sam reaching out to him a second too late with a warning, "No."</p><p>               A part of Sandy wanted to follow that familiar voice too, even while knowing that whatever it was downstairs it certainly wasn't her mom, it couldn't be, her mom was dead. Just as dean had pointed out to Sam, where he thought she hadn't been able to hear, there had been too much blood in that vent for anyone to have survived whatever the hell had happened down there. But that didn't mean hearing her mom's voice didn't have her unconsciously stepping forward, but thankfully Sam was right there, pulling her behind him as he led the way out of the bedroom, shotgun come up and at the ready. </p><p>               She clung to the back to of Sam's henley, huddled in tight, as silent sobs rained down against the soft grey top. She was shaking all over, and not-Adam's desperate shouts of "Mom!" weren't helping, not when she knew it was all probably just some ruse to get them downstairs. And they were no doubts walking right into their trap, not the best idea, but since Sam was acting as her human shield Sandy didn't have many options but to follow him down regardless. </p><p>               "Adam, wait!" Sam shouted, as they stumbled to a stop in the doorway to the kitchen, clearly the sight of her not-Mom was enough of a caution inducing sight to give Sam a moments pause.</p><p>               "Don't look, Sandy," Sam ordered of her gently, as he tucked her firmly behind him, before bringing his shotgun up once more with two hands in their appointed place. </p><p>               Sandy didn't have to be told twice. She had no intention of looking around his hulking frame, seeing one of them wear her brother was jarring enough, she simply couldn't bear to see one wearing her mom too. </p><p>               "It took me," not-Mom explained in a frantic manner. No doubt pantomiming with not-Adam for Sam's benefit, though luckily for Sandy, Sam wasn't buying what they were selling, not that it seemed to be bothering them, the show must go on after all. "But I got away."</p><p>               "It's okay," Not-Adam reassured convincingly, voice clogged with relieved tears, he even through in a joyous laugh for bonus points.</p><p>               "I got away," not-Mom went on, no doubt hugging not-Adam, living out their 'reunion special' to full effect. </p><p>               "Adam, step away from her," Sam ordered, far less gentle than he had been with Sandy, but given how he no doubt though her brother was hugging a monster she could totally understand his curt worry.</p><p>               "Sam, what the hell?!" Not-Adam shouted, fake outrage clear to hear, no doubt finding issue with Sam pointing a shotgun at his body-snatching friend.</p><p>               "She's not your mother!" Sam tried to reason. </p><p>               "Adam, who . . . what is going on?" Not-Mom asked with a disturbingly on-point verbal expression of fear that Sandy's teeth on edge. </p><p>               "Get away from him!" Sam growled, ignoring not-Adam, as he stood his ground with his shotgun unwavering in his hands.</p><p>               "What is going on?" Not-Mom pressed, causing Sandy, in turn, to press her face harder into Sam's back. With her hands coming up to cover her ears, as she desperately wished that it had been her hearing and not her voice that she had lost that day, if only so she wouldn't have to hear that monster speaking with her mom's voice. </p><p>               "You need to listen to me," Sam tried again, only to be cut off by not-Adam, "It's <em>really</em> her, okay?"</p><p>               "There was too much blood," Sam exclaimed in frustration, using Dean's argument to try and get him to listen to reason, as he lowered his shotgun a fraction. His actions caused her heart to skip in blinding terror - why was he lowering his gun?! But before her fear could grip her too tight, he charged forward, shoving not-Adam away from not-mom while shouting, "Your mother's dead! There was too much blood in the vents!"</p><p>               While she was glad Sam wasn't buying into their bullshit, Sandy could have done without him shoving her away too, as he tore his way across the kitchen. She went flying backwards, arms pin-wheeling, as she landed in an ungraceful heap sliding down the hallway. The sheer mass of her blonde locks near blinded her, as more shouts sounded in the kitchen, so she couldn't see how Sam was fairing. But by Sam's shout of "Shoot it!" she didn't think it was going too well, not if he'd gone and lost his damn gun to one of the body-snatching monsters, and he still had no idea - they were both fucked. </p><p>               "Look -" Sam tried to reason calmly, hands held out placatingly before him, as not-Adam waved the shotgun 'uncertainty' between Sam and not-Mom, "Adam!"</p><p>               "Honey, it's me!" Not-Mom pleaded her case, while Sandy crawled up onto her knees, shaking hands brushing her long mane back, as she watched on in terrified horror from the hallway. </p><p>               "Look, that's not your mother!" Sam shouted, only to be followed right up with not-Mom's rather convincing "Baby, please!"</p><p>               "Shoot it!" Sam demanded as the swinging gun landed back on not-Mom, "It's not human!"</p><p>               <em>And neither is he!</em> Sandy desperately wanted to shout in warning, but she couldn't bring her hands up quick enough to shoot her brother a warning sign, not that it would have mattered, his eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon not-Adam. </p><p>               But, since not-Adam levelled the shotgun at not-Mom with a creepy-ass smirk curving up onto his heartbreakingly familiar face, Sandy figured the truth was going to come out now anyway, sooner rather than later. Clearly, the body-snatchers were done playing, and Sandy didn't think that was actually a good thing, at least not for Sandy and Sam. </p><p>               "I know," Not-Adam stated with a put-upon sign, taking Sam well and truly by surprise, as he swung the butt of the shotgun around to hit Sam right on the chin with it, bring the large of the two down to the floor out cold in one hard hit.</p><p>               That was when not-Mom finally turned her attention to Sandy, still kneeling in the hallway, smiling sinisterly down at her as she slowly sashayed her way over to Sandy. Acting on a survival instinct that she didn't even know she had, Sandy scuttled up to her feet, preparing to turn tail and head straight for the front door at the other end of the hallway. But not-Mom was surprisingly fast, she had her hand wrapped around a fistful of Sandy's hair before she could even get more than two steps away, yanking her back onto her ass with a harsh and incredibly painful tug. </p><p>               The wind was well and truly knocked out of her, as her back slammed into the hard wooden flooring. She was so startled and dazed by the harsh landing, Sandy didn't even notice that not-Mom still had a fist full of her hair, at least not until she started dragging Sandy by it into the kitchen. Sandy silently screamed the whole time, hands snapping up to grasp at not-Mon's wrist, trying to relieve the painful tension on her roots, of which she could literally hear snapping and ripping out of her poor scalp. </p><p>               Sandy couldn't contain her grateful sob when not-Mom finally let her go, even if that did mean she ended up knocking her head against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, finding herself dazed for the second time in under five minutes. At least this time her hair wasn't being pulled; no, instead, she came back into focus to realise her hands were being tied together with duct tape by not-Mom, while not-Adam went about tying Sam flat against the top of the kitchen table. </p><p>               Full-out crying now, as if she weren't already, Sandy shuffled back on her bum until the handles of the cupboard under the sink stabbed into her back. She paid it and the jarring pain she knew it would blossom into an impressive bruise come tomorrow no mind, not as she watched not-Mom cleaning her fingernails with the point of a knife in real movie-villain style, especially when said villain stood threateningly over her still very much unconscious brother. </p><p>               "Which one you wanna' eat? Blondie over there," Not-Adam asked casually of not-Mom, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Sandy, "Or Tall and stupid over here?"</p><p>               <em>Eat?! </em>Sandy's panicked internal voice screamed, as she gaped up at the body-snatching monsters, who apparently are cannibals too. Because simple murder wasn't already terrifying enough as it was - no - now Sandy had to worry about getting eaten on top of her already impending death. Fan-freaking-tastic.</p><p>               "You take the girl," Not-Mom answered, licking her lips down at Sam in a way that made Sandy uncomfortable, and given that she now knew that they wanted to actually eat them the look took on a truly terrifying sight to behold. "I want to sink my teeth into <em>this</em> one."</p><p>                The apparent 'tasty' meal that was her brother chose that moment to regain consciousness, groaning himself awake with her name the first word on his lips, which warmed her heart more than was appropriate for the situation at hand. He flipped his head around frantically on the table until his wide and worried eyes landed on Sandy, which got a heaving exhale of relief on his part, as he dropped his head back down against the wooden surface.</p><p>               "Silver," Sam said, as his eyes finally turned from hers to address the two threats in the room, with them now locking on his own knife in not-Mom's hand with a clench of his jaw, "No wonder none of the tests worked. You're not shapeshifters. You're ghouls."</p><p>               <em>Ghouls?</em> Sandy frowned in confusion, having zero ideas as to what the fuck <em>that</em> even was, yet knowing it had to terrible, given by the disgusted rage causing Sam to fight against the duck tape keeping him pinned spread eagle on the kitchen table. And the fact that they wanted to eat her, of course, not like she could forget <em>that</em> horrifying detail.</p><p>               "You know," not-Mom complained, pausing in her nail-cleaning to give Sam an offended look, waving the knife around to emphasize her point, "I find that term racist."</p><p>               And as if Sandy's stomach wasn't already rolling in protest by all she had seen and learnt of late, watching not-Mom cross the kitchen to actually <em>sniff</em> at Sam, like a dog, from hand to neck, nibbling upon his ear as she went . . . Well, let's just say, seeing someone wearing your mom like a human flesh suit was already bad enough, but seeing your mom getting fresh with you unwilling brother was <em>definitely</em> a hundred times worse. It was an image Sandy knew there wasn't enough bleach in all the world to erase from her minds-eye, talk about trauma, seeing your mom get up-close-and-personal was bad enough on any given day of the week, this was just too fucked up <em>not</em> to give her nightmares for the rest of her life. </p><p>               "Mmm . . ." not-Mom sounded, "Fresh meat. <em>So</em> much better than what we're used to."</p><p>               Of which Sandy could only assume was dead people, given all the dead bodies that had gone missing from the cemetery. It was like all the information she had been picking up in broken pieces over the last forty-eight hours had suddenly snapped into place for her. Sam and Dean had made it a point not to talk in detail around her about monsters and their lives as hunters - Dean, in particular, didn't want her to have any part in their lives - so she knew only what she could eavesdrop in on. </p><p>               Not-Adam had said he wanted revenge, and since they were hell-bent on attacking her family she could only conclude that it was because of her dad, who she now knew was a hunter. That must have been the hunt that sent him to the hospital and straight into the arms of her mom all those years ago, and whatever he had killed had clearly meant something to these monsters, if monsters were even human enough to <em>feel</em> for others at all that is. </p><p>               And now the monsters were back, but John was too dead to sate their need for revenge, which just left his kids as targets - fun times for her, right? <em>Not</em>. At least now she knew what had happened to her mom and brother, though she wished dearly with every fibre of her being that she didn't, that she didn't now know that they had been eaten alive most probably. She was going to have nightmares about that for the rest of her life too, no doubt about that, she didn't even specifics, she was sure her overactive imagination would fill in the gaps for her just fine on it's own.</p><p>               "I should have known," Sam sneered, letting out a humourless laugh, "It was the fresh kills that threw me. Ghouls don't usually go after the living. See, you're just filthy scavengers, feeding off the dead - taking the form of the last corpse you choke down."</p><p>               Sandy wanted a voice more than anything right then and there, for the first time forever, if only to scream at Sam to shut the hell up. Antagonising the very monsters hell-bent on turning them into their next meal did not seem like a sound course of action to her, but she was new to this whole monster-hunter business, so what the hell does she know really.  </p><p>               "And their thoughts. And their memories," not-Adam tacked onto Sam's rather negative description of them, not at all fazed by it, adding, "Like Adam, for instance", with a dark smile sent her way cruelly. </p><p>               Her chin trembled in response, as fresh tears trailed down her already stained cheeks, as he confirmed her fears. Thinking and <em>knowing</em> were two very different things. Thinking left her with room to pray that whatever end her family had met, that just maybe it had been a quick one, whereas knowing left her with very little doubts that it wasn't a slow and drawn-out one. And given by the sadistic show that they were putting on for hers and Sam's benefit, well . . . Sandy could only assume that suffer her mom and Adam had. </p><p>               And that set a rage alight in Sandy's chest, unlike anything she had ever experienced before, one that made her wanna' make the body-snatching dicks pay . . . she just didn't know exactly <em>how</em> to go about doing that. Not like she had any experience in the matter, but she was sure Dean would be back any moment now, and her big brother was proving to be nothing if not an avid gun enthusiast with a shoot-first policy that she was starting to approve of wholeheartedly.</p><p>               "Well, we are what we eat," not-Mom joked darkly.</p><p>               "You're <em>monsters</em>," Sam stated with conviction, something that Sandy unwaveringly agreed with, as she watched not-Mom draw her knife across Sam's arm in retaliation for his supposed insult, drawing blood and a pained hiss from him for her efforts.</p><p>               "You know," not-Adam tasked, as he ignored not-Mom leaning down to lick at the blood beading on Sam's arm, as if it was a totally normal occurrence and not a seven-shades of fucked up thing to be doing, "You use that word a lot, Sam." He finished up by thunking a knife of his own into the table by Sam's head, saying, "But I don't think you know what it means."</p><p>               Not-Mom looked up from her sipping at the blood like a God-damn vampire with a put-out frown, claiming, "His blood, it tastes different."</p><p>               But not-Adam paid her no mind, continuing on with his little 'villain' speech, "Our father was a monster? <em>Why</em>? Because of what he ate? He <em>never</em> hurt anyone, Sam. Living, anyway."</p><p>               Moving up to not-Adam's side, not-Mom pulled the knife free of the table, handing it back to not-Adam, as she joined in with his monologing, "No. He was no monster. But the thing that killed him was. A monster named John Winchester."</p><p>               <em>Yep, totally called it</em>, Sandy thought bitterly. A thought she didn't get a second longer to gloat over, as not-Mom's hand shot out quick as lightening, embedding her glinting knife straight into Sam's side. </p><p>               Sam cried out in pain, and Sandy cried right along with him, as the knife was pulled from his wound without care a moment later. They didn't stop there either, no, not-Adam felt the need to dig his index finger deep into it, twisting it sadistically around, drawing pained shouts from Sam for his efforts.</p><p>               "Thanks to your daddy, my brother and I grew up on our own," not-Mom continued, completely unfazed by Sam's pain, "At least we had each other."</p><p>               Finally pulling his finger from Sam's side, not-Adam brought it up to his mouth and licked it, adding, "Like you and your brother. Inseparable."</p><p>               "Actually, it was very hard to get you on your own," not-Mom stated with an exasperated huff, "We could have taken Sandy here at literally any time, but we wanted to wait, for the complete set."</p><p>               "Like you said, Sam," not-Adam taunted, looking up to meet the cold and inappropriately amused eyes of not-Mom, as she leant down to lick some more blood from Sam's arm, "The only thing you can count on is family."</p><p>               Standing back up, not-Mom wiped the excess blood from around her mouth away, before then licking her fingers clean, as she continued with the story of their origins right where not-Adam left off, "And for twenty years, we lived like rats."</p><p>               Back to not-Adam with a sigh of, "Graveyard after graveyard - all that stinking flesh."</p><p>               Again with not-Mom, "Then we thought, 'hey, why not move up to fresher game?'"</p><p>               "And we knew just where to start," not-Adam all but snarled, as he dug the point of his knife savagely into the cut on Sam's arm. "<em>Revenge</em> - it's never over, is it, Sam?"</p><p>               "First, it was John's cop friend, and then his slut, and then his slut's son," not-Mom listed, pointing first to herself with the knife, then at not-Adam, who then concluded their villainous plan summary with a disbelieving laugh, adding, "We kept Sandy alive to draw John out, but the son of a bitch was already dead."</p><p>               "So, I guess you and Dean will have to do instead," not-Mom smirked, as she stroked the back of her hand down the side of Sam's face, a touch of which he tried vainly to turn away from with a disgusted curl to his lips.</p><p>               "Dean won't interrupt us this time," not-Adam stated, as he turned to meet Sandy's eyes from over his shoulder, letting her know that his next words were meant solely for her benefit, "We're gonna feed on you nice and slow - just like we did with Adam and your mom. They were still alive when we took our first bites."</p><p>               "And boy were they a pair of screamers," not-Mom mocked, as she and not-Adam turned back to Sam, each opening gashes along his pinned forearms, causing blood to drip freely down into twin bowls placed either side to catch it all.</p><p>               Sam, of course, did not take the wounds without protest, as he squirmed and all but snarled out his pain. They just cut into him again, another set of parallel lines next to their first cuts, drawing more blood, which literally poured down into the bowls at an alarming rate that made Sandy feel dizzy just watching it. </p><p>               "Sam, the more you struggle, the faster you're gonna bleed out," not-Adam cautioned with mock concern, "So you might as well lie back and relax."</p><p>               He wasn't going to have a choice soon, Sandy noted with fear, as she watched helplessly as Sam got paler and paler, all fight leaving his weakening body, as it sagged heavily against the wood beneath him. But thankfully, Dean chooses that moment to return, like something out of one of those cheesy action movies, kicking his way literally into the house. </p><p>               "Hey!" He shouted to get their attention, not like him kicking the door open with a resounding bang hadn't already done that, as he charged in, aiming his shotgun right at not-Adam.</p><p>               He fired his gun, and the outcome was more dramatic that Sandy had thought it would be, like something out of a movie, causing not-Adam to fly back off his feet and hit the behind him wall, a sizably hole right through his shoulder.</p><p>               "Dean, they're ghouls!" Sam weakly managed to warn, head coming up, only to flop right back down with a pained groan.</p><p>               His words of warning draw a moments pause from Dean, one that thankfully didn't afford the Ghouls time to counter-attack, as he raised the barrel of his gun a few inches, pulling the trigger without a moment's hesitation. Blood exploded from not-Mom's head, spattering the wall behind her like some sort of fucked-up version of a Jackson Pollock painting, with her headless corpse collapsing to the floor in what seemed like slow-motion.</p><p>               "Which means head-shot," Dean snarked, only to be taken by surprise as an outraged not-Adam charged him, slamming him into the kitchen counter behind him.</p><p>               It was the one where her mom liked to keep the glass cups and such, so the sounds of a lot of glass on their way down weren't too surprising, but it did make Sandy wince, hoping that the cupboards managed to stay closed and not rain down glass on Dean from above where he and not-Adam grappled on the floor below.</p><p>               Dean lost his hold upon the shotgun, but he used it to his advantage, grabbing not-Adam with both hands, slamming him down on the ground beneath him. Once he had dazed not-Adam enough for his liking, Dean's eyes searched around him for a suitable weapon, settling for a metal bar. He made to slam it down upon not-Adam's head, but not-Adam had recovered enough from his rough handling to dodges, as he desperately fought back against Dean's unrelenting strikes.</p><p>               Until finally, one of Dean's strikes hit true, connecting with not-Adam's forehead with a sickening crack, that turned into a series of sickening squelches as he continued to land hit-after-hit until not-Adam's face wasn't even a face anymore, and silence fells over the kitchen. Sandy who had had the misfortunate to seat front row to not-Adam's demise, not three foot from them, was now splattered in his blood. She could feel it dripping down her face, as she shook, eyes wide, and breathing erratic, as she gazed down at the mess that was her brother's lookalike's face. </p><p>               "Dean," Sam called out weakly to his brother, both having forgotten that he was even still there, rapidly bleeding out.</p><p>               Dean paid not-Adam no more mind, as he stood up and wiped his hands absently against a kitchen-towel on the counter next to where he now stood, not even bothering to give him a courtesy look over his shoulder as he booked it to Sam's side. Killing was nothing new to them, she realised, and that shook her to her core, even though she had already known that was part of what Sam had meant when he had aid they were 'hunters'. Still, it was all put a whole new perspective for her, bearing witness to it with her own eyes, that her brothers didn't live in the same world that she did. Far from it, in fact, and Sandy really didn't know what to do with that realisation, as she sat there looking down at the blood stretching towards her shaking form upon the white titled floor. </p><p>               With Sam now cut free of the duct tape, Dean helped Sam to sit up, using several of the kitchen towels as apply make-shift pressure bandages to his wrists, murmuring the whole time, "Come on. Come on. Come on. Hang on. All right, here we go. Here we go. Hang on, buddy. All right."</p><p>               It managed to soften out the fear that had been struck in Sandy at the sight of his brutality just moments before, watching he tend to Sam, seeing the undoubtable care and worry that went into making sure his little brother was okay. Sure, he was capable of violence that most humans weren't, but he didn't enact it blindly, he did in all out of a need to protect - like a solider. </p><p>               "Thank you," Sam breathed out softly, head falling heavily against Dean's shoulder, as his brother tended to him.</p><p>               "That's what family's for, right?" Dean snarked back gently, clearly uncomfortably with Sam's thanks, as he moved Sam's hands to replace his own on his wounds, "Keep pressure on that."</p><p>               And with that ordered out, he left Sam's side in favour of her own, squatting down beside her, as he pulled a flip knife from his jeans pocket, bringing it down to cut her bound hands free. Gently, so not to alarm her, Dean grasped her chin in hand, turning her traumatised face away from the carnage on the floor at her feet and up to meet his own. </p><p>               "I'm sorry you had to see that, sweetheart," he signed softly, regret and frustrated anger clear in his tired eyes, as his hand moved down from her chin to rest upon her still trembling shoulder.</p><p>               With a jerky nod, Sandy let her forehead lean forward to press against his chest for a few drawn-out moments, letting him know that she didn't blame him, that she understood that his actions had been necessary - even if they had scared her. Placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head, Dean pulled back, standing to his feet, and pulling her right along with him.</p><p>               She had to hold onto the counter her behind her to remain upright, but that was okay because it wasn't until her hand bumped against the counter behind her that she remembers the first-aid box her mother kept within the cupboard beneath it. With unsteady hands, Sandy moved aside to open the cupboard, pulling the large box out with a grunt of effort, before handing it off to Dean.</p><p>               Being a nurse, her mom had kept it well-stocked, and if Dean's pleased exhale of air was anything to go by as he set the box on the counter beside them, lifting the lid, he was seeing that for himself. It should be more than enough for him to use to patch up Sam since Sandy very much doubted he'd be going to the hospital, it would just invite questions that Sandy now knew that they couldn't answer. </p><p>               Answers to questions she herself had wished she didn't now have. A harrowing truth that she now lived in a world were monsters existed, monsters that could pretend to be human so easily, blending into the world around them without causing fear in the hearts of their unsuspecting prey. </p><p>               Prey like Sandy, because that is exactly what she had just been, some monster's next meal - it was the most sobering realisation she had ever had. To be so brutally made aware of her own mortality, it was humbling in the worst of ways, to know that she truly had stood no chance against these beings alone. She'd be dead now . . . just like her brother and mom, because no one thinks the impossible is real, not until it's too late, that is. She now knew the truth, while desperately wished that she didn't, because as the age-old saying goes, once you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.</p><p>               There would be no going back for Sandy now.</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, you're all probably wondering why I had Sandy do nothing heroic at the last moment to save herself or Sam, as most OFC/OMC's do in fan-fictions. But you gotta' take in account here, she's sixteen years old, and until a few days ago she didn't know monsters even existed, so she's completely and justifiably terrified. She needs to learn how to be a bad-ass hunter, it ain't gonna' happen overnight, so for now, at least, she is just a scared kid that needs protecting. But don't worry, she'll get there, kicking ass and taking names all on her own.</p><p>Thanks for reading! x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. CH05, The Sound of Silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>             <strong>S</strong>andy had retreated to the impala in the wake of the events that had unfolded in her kitchen, it was all too much for her to deal with right now, while her brothers went about cleaning up any evidence that they were even there to begin with. She had tried to help, but when she had caught sight of not-Adam's smashed in head flopping to the side, or what was left of it, brain and God only knows what else leaking out onto the tiled floor, as Dean lugged his body up and over his shoulder, Sandy knew she wasn't going to be much help.</p><p>               In fact, she had barely made it out the back door before she was losing what little she had managed to eat that day, heaving into one of her mom's flower pots like she had seen a drunk Adam do after a party once. Which was why, in a show of mercy, Sam had sent her out to sit in the impala, to which she went willingly and without argument.</p><p>               Dean had handed the keys off to her with bloody fingers, not even seeming to notice the red glisten on the metal himself, but Sandy couldn't seem to look away from as it stained her own fingertips red too. She had wiped what she could from it off on her jumper, her mom's once beautiful white jumper, not even really acknowledging that she was just making herself look more a state, as she left the house and the chaos inside behind.</p><p>             And there she had sat, for the better part of an hour, in the back seat, looking at nothing in the darkness of the night dead ahead of her. In her mind, however, it wasn't so still and quiet, it all replayed over and over again on an endless loop, in painfully attentive detail that left her with no reprieve from the horrors she had just bore witness to.</p><p>               Grief hit her like a punch to her chest, stealing all the breath from her lungs, as tears rolled down her freckled cheeks at their own leisure. It was silly really, she knew it wasn't really her mom and Adam that had died tonight, but it had still been their faces . . . so, she now knows what her brother's head looked like to be bashed in . . . what her mom now looks like to take a bullet to the face. And it was more than her fragile mind could handle right now. If only because it made her grief all the more confusing for her to handle because her mom and Adam were dead, they just didn't die like <em>that</em> . . . she didn't see them die, and yet . . . she couldn't help but feel as if she just had all the same. </p><p>               She supposed she should be grateful really, that she hadn't actually seen how they had really died, being slowly eaten to death, because that sounded too horrifying for words. Not that her traitorous mind needed words, as it conjured up more than enough nightmare material for her to watch, replacing Sam in her memories with Adam and her mom tied to that damn dining table instead. </p><p>               So it was no surprise really, that when her brothers finally did join her again, they managed to startle her badly enough that she damn near cracked her head open on the window on the other side of the car, as she all but flung herself away from the now open door. But thankfully, neither of her brothers saw her silent panic, not with the large boxes now blocking their views, as they took turns piling them up on the backbench beside where Sandy sat. </p><p>               With a confused frown, Sandy dared to shuffle forward, as Dean placed a third box in the footwell of his side of the car, taking a peek inside. And when she did her heart fluttered with a painful warmth, as understanding and then gratefulness flooded her green eyes, causing fresh tears to brim along the clumped line of her bottom lashes. The boxes were full of her vinyl records, she could even see Sam carrying her record player around to the boot of the car, while Dean reached over the boxes now between them, all to hand her the technicolour-patch-work quilt that had been folded up neatly at the foot of her bed.</p><p>             She took it with a weak but sincere smile, all but crushing the well-worn material to her chest, breathing in the familiar scent of home, knowing that this might be her last chance to do so before it inevitably fades with time. She'd had the quilt since she was a little girl, her maternal grandmother had handmade it for her, big enough so that even as she grew she'd never outgrown it, so Sandy'd always had a piece of her with her for as long as she lept the blanket. Sandy couldn't really remember her grandmother, she'd been so young when she died, but she has always known that she was loved by her, her quilt was proof of that, her grandmother's love was sewn into every stitch. </p><p>             "We can't bring everything with us, sweetheart," Dean spoke to her softly, eyes sad, and jaw tense, as he hovered in the frame of the car door, one arm resting on the roof, while the other one hung on the door itself. "But I figured I could at least save your records, it would be a shame to see them go, you got quite the impressive collection there, kid."</p><p>             He didn't mention the quilt, but the fact alone that he had even thought to grab it for her was more than enough of an explanation needed, he'd seen she needed a familiar comfort and had acted unprompted. She didn't even have words to express her gratitude, so she simply signed her 'thanks', touching her fingers to her chin before bringing her fingers forward in an almost mimic of blowing out a kiss, with the sign bringing her fingers down just a bit lower than was needed for a blown kiss.</p><p>             With a gentle nod, Dean closed the car door, right as Sam slammed the boot closed. They were gone again right after, but only for a few moments this time before both were back, climbing into the car with no words spoken between them. They drove away, no point lingering at the scene of the crime, as it were, plus, the fire was supposed to look like an accident, wherein she and Adam were to meet their apparent 'end'. Hard to do that if she was sitting very much alive out front in a car, covered in blood, with two equally stained men that were clearly not from around here.</p><p>             She wasn't sure whose idea it was to fake her death, but given she was still a minor with no alive next of kin, she couldn't very well stay behind. She'd be taken in by social services in a heartbeat and put into the system, since her brothers couldn't legally claim guardianship her, at least not from what she was gathering from their curt and hushed discussions on the matter. Nope, the only actions to be had, at least if they planned on keeping her with them, was to fake her death. So, with the monster still looking identical to her mom acting as Sandy's double, now laying in her bed, while the other lay in Adam's, the Milligan family burned.</p><p>             Sandy didn't look back, she couldn't bear to, not when she knew what was coming any minute now. Dean had switched the gas on and lit a candle, or so she learned as he informed Sam from the front of the car, in a hushed whisper that wasn't quite whispered low enough for her to miss, unfortunately. But on the plus side, when the sounds of an exposition rocked the car, despite them being now a full street away, Sandy thankfully wasn't surprised by the jarring sound. </p><p>               That was it, she thought hollowly, her whole life . . . gone. Every memory, all the height and age markings on the door frame to the living room, her room . . . her <em>life</em>, it was all gone now. With a shuddering breath, Sandy pulled her quilt tighter around herself, absently thankful that the blood on her had long since dried and wouldn't be staining the precious material. </p><p>             Sam looked back to check on her, asking if she was okay, despite the fact that he could clearly see that she wasn't, even still, she tried to offer him up a smile of reassurance, no matter how weak it was. It fell flat, at least if the guilty and sad droop to his eyes was anything to go by, prompting him to reach back to give her knee a comforting squeeze before turning back to face Dean.</p><p>             "What now?" He asked of his brother, as he tugged irritably upon one of the bandages Dean had applied to his wrists, over several rows of impressively neat stitches, courtesy of the equally impressively stocked first-aid box her mom had kept in the kitchen cupboard. </p><p>             "We take care of Adam and her mom," Dean stated lowly, again not quite low enough to keep her from hearing altogether, as he drove them towards the small town's one cemetery. </p><p>             Sandy didn't know what 'take care of' entailed exactly, but whatever it was, she knew it had to be better than whatever it was that those monsters had done with their real bodies. It wouldn't be a marked grave though, she knew it couldn't be, not when her mom was supposed to still be missing and Adam burned to a crisp in their home. Not that she needed to wonder for long, before Dean was pulling the impala deep into the edge of the wooded area surrounding the cemetery, ordering Sam to go collect wood before he had even turned the engine off. </p><p>             They were gonna' burn them.</p><p>             Sandy found it kind of fitting really, all things considered, and she'd always liked the idea of being cremated more herself anyways. Just the thought of being worm-food one day was an unpleasant one, plus, she has been known to be a little bit claustrophobic, so the idea of spending her afterlife stuck in a box wasn't all that appealing. Adam had had no preference on the matter, she knew, but her mom had always wanted to be inturned with her parents in the Milligan family plot, and Sandy hated that she now never would be. </p><p>             Sam and Dean hadn't expected her to get out and help too, she knew, could tell by Sam's surprised look, as she came up beside him wordlessly to help collect the wood. But this was her family, not theirs; she <em>needed</em> to help. And so she did, while Dean fetched their bodies, now wrapped in sheets she recognised from the linin closet of her own home, secured in place with rope, giving the sheets an eerily human shape. She tried not to look at them laid there too much, resting on the grass like two wrapped mummied beside the impala, while she finished building the pyre with her brothers.</p><p>             Sam had chosen the spot, deep enough within the wooded area surrounding the cemetery to be out of sight long enough for them to burn, but close enough to still technically be classified as part of the hallowed grounds. And there the pyre was built, an impressive construction that housed a bed big enough for Dean to lay both her mom and brother down comfortably next to each other on top, while Sam went about dousing the wood with lighter fluid from a can. </p><p>             "You sure we should do this?" Sam asked of Dean, as they both finally stood back, standing on either side of Sandy, looking like two very tired and battered bookends. </p><p>             "Ghouls didn't fake those pictures. They didn't fake Dad's journal," Dean stated, not looking at her even as he clearly spoke about her, "Sandy is our sister, our family, and Adam and Kate were <em>her</em> family. They died like hunters. They deserve to go out like ones."</p><p>             So this is what <em>this</em> was then, not just a convenient way to dispose of their bodies, but an actual way to send them off with honour. It gave Sandy a small sliver of comfort to know that, that this meant more than just a way to clean up to them, that <em>they</em> meant more. And they did, they had meant the whole world to Sandy . . . her family . . . she'd gained two, but had had two loose two in order to do so.</p><p>               In that moment, as she looked upon the two wrapped bodies, Sandy felt like a monster herself because she knew that if given half the choice, she'd have picked Adam and her mom in a heartbeat. Sam and Dean had come into her life, and had done nothing but help her, taken care of her, and yet, if given the option, she'd give their lives in exchange for her mom and Adam's without hesitation.  </p><p>             "Maybe we can bring him back," Sam offered out, and Sandy didn't even bother to get her hopes up, she could hear how he doubted his own words even as he spoke them, "Get a hold of Cas, call in a favour."</p><p>             "No, they're in a better place," Dean rebuffed, leaving no room for argument, as he tossed a lit match onto the pyre. "You know, I finally get why you and Dad butted heads so much. You two were practically the same person."</p><p>             Sandy tiredly attempted to follow their conversation, as she watched her mom and Adam's bodies get engulfed in flames, if only to distract herself from the full horror of the sight before her, from the finality of it all. She could see Sam turn to look over at Dean as he spoke from her peripheral vision, but he didn't say anything, clearly sensing as she did that Dean had more to say on the matter.</p><p>             "I mean, I worshipped the guy, you know? I dressed like him, I acted like him, I listen to the same music," Dean admitted with a self-deprecating scoff, as he turned to meet his brother's eyes over the top of Sandy's head, eyes growing hard and distant, "But you were more like him than I will ever be. And I see that now."</p><p>             "I'll take that as a compliment," Sam said softly, as he turned to fix his gaze back upon the pyre, taking Dean's cold words in stride.</p><p>             But Sandy couldn't help but think that <em>that</em> was not how Dean had meant them to be taken. She'd heard him comment several times in the forty-eight hours that she had known them, about John and how Sam was starting to act like him, which seemed to bother Dean greatly, which was also why she now thought that what he had said was actually far from a compliment in truth. She couldn't comment on the statement herself, though, she had barely known John, and the John that she did know wasn't the man that these two knew at all. </p><p>             But her thoughts on the matter were soon confirmed, when Dean turned back to looking at the pyre himself, shaking his head, as he said curtly, "You take it any way you want."</p><p>             And Sandy, stood between her two brothers, could feel the tension building between them, and she didn't like it one bit. Eyes turning from the pyre, Sandy tucked herself into Dean's side, taking him by surprise, though he did respond after a moment's hesitation, with his arm readily coming up to curl around her shoulders. Despite still being hurt by Sam's willingness to use her as live bait, She stuck the arm not curled around Dean's waist out to him, taking one of his large hands into her own. His hand responded more readily around hers than Dean's had, with his calloused fingers curling around her own, giving her a comforting squeeze. </p><p>             For hours they stood like that, long enough for Adam and her mom's bodies to be reduced to ash in a pile of charred wood, and the light of a new morning to chase the night above the tree-tops away. Even from here, Sandy could see the thick black smoke rising from a distance, the fire having had long burned out by now, leaving her childhood home in ashen woodpile too, most probably. </p><p>               Sam was the first to limp his way back to the impala, hand coming up to press against the stitches in the stab wound on his side with a wince, all but dropping himself back into the passenger side of the car. Dean took the moment alone with Sandy to press something metal into her hand, warmed by his own hand. With a frown, she pulled back from his side, to look down at her hand, holding it open and palm up, letting out a soft gasp as what he had given her finally registered.</p><p>               Her mom's ring, the one she had gotten from her parents for her eighteenth, a modest silver band embellished with a single yellow stone, dimmed and battered with age. And yet her mom had always adored it, never taken it off, just as Sandy now knew that she wouldn't either. But that wasn't all Dean had given her, Adam's leather-bound watch was resting on her palm too. It was clearly a male's watch, all large faced and simply made stylistically speaking, and yet Sandy knew she'd wear that always too, even if she did have to wear it as tight as it would possibly go to keep it from sliding off her much smaller wrist. </p><p>               Again, Sandy signed out her thanks, but Dean just brushed it off with an awkward clearing of his throat, as he used the arm still resting around her shoulders to steer her back towards the impala. She went willingly, clutching her precious gifts to her chest, blinking tears she couldn't believe she had left in her to form away, as he held the car door open for her.</p><p>               She climbed in, readily pulling her quilt over from the boxes beside her to cover her lap, as she laid the ring and the watch down on to the colourful material. Sandy pulled the ring on first, as Dean started the car, pulling out of the cemetery, sharing light conversation with Sam beside him as he did so. They were talking about what to do next - the consensus seemed to be going back to the motel, to clean up, since they couldn't exactly be caught driving across state lines covered head to toe in blood, after all. </p><p>               The ring didn't fit on her middle finger like it had her mom's, it was just a sliver too big for that, but it did fit comfortably upon the index finger of her right hand. Adam's watch was the same, too big, just as she had known it would be, resulting in her having to use the very last hole on the leather belt to keep it in place. It still moved around freely on her wrist more than she liked, but she was sure she'd be able to poke another hole in the belt herself to make it fit better, just one more hole should do it she reckoned. </p><p>               So consumed with the last two little pieces she had left of her mom and brother, Sandy completely missed the drive over to the motel, not even realising they were there until Sam was at her side of the car, pulling the door open for her. Blinking up at him in surprise, Sandy climbed out, but not before throwing her quilt over to cover her reconds from sight, knowing Dean probably wouldn't react kindly to someone smashing his windows in for them.</p><p>               Her brothers kept a lookout as she hurried from the car into the ready-opened motel room, making sure she wasn't seen, since she was technically supposed to be dead and all. Her duffle bag was still resting upon the foot of the twin bed she had claimed for her own last night, and she wasted no time crossing to it, pulling out a change of clothes with desperate hands: blue jeans, her white t-shirt, and her ridiculously comfortably rainbow-knit jumper. </p><p>               Not bothering to ask first, Sandy booked it for the bathroom before either of her brothers could get a look in, locking it behind her with a relieved breath. Placing her clean clothes on the bathroom-counter, Sandy all but tore her bloody clothes from her body, tossing them off to the floor, out of sight and hopefully out of mind, as she turned the shower on. </p><p>               She didn't even wait for the water to warm before she was climbing over the edge of the bathtub and under the icy spray, with a gasp she shivered, arms coming up to cross before her chest as she full-body shook from just how cold the water actually was. But luckily, it didn't take too long to warm, thawing Sandy slowly, as she stood frozen beneath the poorly pressured down-pore of water. But beggars can't be choosers, as they say, and Sandy all but basked in the glory of watching the blood and ash wash from her fair skin and down the drain between her toes. </p><p>             With a soft but no less joyous chuckle, Sandy eagerly ducked under the now steaming water, which quickly turned into a groan of delight as the heat soothed her aching body. But unexpectedly, her laughter soon turned into soulful sobbing. Loud, uncontrollable sobbing, that shook her entire body, so much so in fact, that she had to lean against the grimy titled wall for support.</p><p>               She didn’t know whether she was strong enough to do this, to carry on without her mom and brother. She'd always relied on them, too much really, and they had both foolishly let her hid behind them from the world. But she knew she had to at least try, even if that though only was the most terrifying to her right now, she owed it to them. </p><p>               Heaving a great shuddering sigh, Sandy ran her cupped hands over her face, brushing her impractically long hair back, tucking it smoothly behind her ears, then down over her shoulders and back. She knew she didn't really have the time to clean it as she would have liked, with copiates amount of shampoo and conditioner, but the simple act of getting herself clean of blood with hot water alone would do nicely for the time being. </p><p>               Stepping out from under the shower, Sandy grabbed a thread-bare looking blue towel off the rack attached to the back of the door and wrapped it around herself. She made quick work of drying herself, before dropping her towel, allowing it to pool at her feet, as she reached for her clean clothes. Her knickers were first on, simple purple cotton lady-briefs, which were then followed by her high-waisted jeans. It was a task and a half pulling them up her still slightly damn legs, but with a jump and a jiggle, she managed it, even if she did have to sit on the closed toilet lid to pull her feed successful through the ankle holes. Pulling a black unpadded sports bra on first, Sandy made quick work of pulling her top and jumper on next, before she pulled some socks on and tucked her feet back into her boots. </p><p>               Bending to grab the towel from the floor, Sandy unlocked the door, towelling her hair dry as she walked out. She didn't bother picking up her bloody clothes, more than happy to let one of her brothers dispose of them when they did so with their own. Dean was next in the bathroom, as she moved to take a seat upon the bed, noting one of them had taken her bag out to the car while she was gone. Sam was sat upon the other bed, looking more than a little worse for wear, as he clutched at his side with a bandaged arm. </p><p>               They didn't speak, and nor did she and Dean when it was Sam's turn, and Sandy found that she was surprisingly okay with the sound of silence echoing in her ears.  </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. CH06, Singer Salvage Yard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sandy meets Castiel and Bobby . . .</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>             <strong>T</strong>hey drove for seven and a half long hours after leaving her hometown in Minnesota, only stopping once for gas and a bathroom break, driving straight on to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It was a journey Sandy spent most of the way pretending to sleep, listening in on her brothers' conversation/argument since it was all about her after all, she felt like she had a right to at least know what was going to happen in regards to her derailed life. </p><p>              Dean was still very against the idea of training her to be a hunter, wanting to respect their late father's wishes, to at least let her have of some semblance of a normal life, especially after what she had just gone through. He wanted to just take her straight to their friend, Bobby, where she'll be close by and still remain safe from any more vengeful monsters. Sam didn't agree; he wanted to teach her, to take her out on hunts, just as their dad had once done with them when they were her age, so she could learn from first-hand-experience. He'd tried to 'reason' with Dean pretty much the whole drive, but no matter his argument Dean shot it down, and yet Sam persisted. </p><p>              Being honest with herself, Sandy knew she was more than a little partial to Dean's idea, because <em>really</em>, what sane person actually wanted to actively hunt monsters for a living? Not Sandy, that was for sure. A truly normal life for her was gone now, she knew that just as surely as she knew the sky was blue, you can't unring a bell, after all. Because now she'd always know what was really out there, and because of that, she'd spend the rest of her life jumping to monsters as being the first conclusion for anything weird or odd in life. But even with that all being said, it didn't mean that she wanted to jump straight into the deep end right of the bat and become a hunter too - hell, a few days ago she didn't even <em>know</em> what a 'hunter' was.</p><p>             Dean had won out in the end, if only because he was driving, though Sandy was sure Sam would bring the argument back up to see some light again sooner or later, he was proving to be just as stubborn as Dean was. But for now, as they drive under the welcoming arch of welded metals, with 'Singer Auto Salvage' made up in differentiating sized metal letters, Sam let the matter close. Meaning it was now the perfect time for Sandy to fake waking up, which she did with a little exaggerated yawn that turned real midway, as she sat up a little straighter in her seat to look out the window.</p><p>             They were in a salvage yard, consisting of what had to be several acres covered in stacked, wrecked cars, piled high like great make-shift walls around the property. Dean pulled the impala to a stop before a modest-sized house, Bobby’s if she had to guess, surrounded by several smaller outbuildings, trees and a wooden fence ringing around the land's main area. It looked like somewhere only a man could live, no visible touch of a woman in sight, meaning no flowers sprinkled here or there, only dirt and steel to be seen.</p><p>             Sandy climbed out when her brothers did, nervously hovering at Dean's side, as she noticed a man, about 6'0" tall, with the stereotypical alcoholic body type, a little round around the middle, but well built enough not to be hindered by his slight beer-gut. As they came closer to where he stood, in the open doorway of what had to be his home, she noted he had brown greying short hair, near completely covered by a beat-up blue cap resting atop his head, and a beard that drew her attention to his kind eyes. </p><p>             He was quick to greet her brothers, as they were with him, all warm smiles that eclipsed their eyes if not their faces, letting Sandy know that there was probably a lot of history between them all - the greeting spoke of trust and care. It wasn't the most verbal, or affectionate greeting, to be sure, just a simple nod and a shared look amongst the men, but Sandy could see that was all that was needed for them. </p><p>             "You must be Sandy," Bobby spoke first to her, smiling welcomingly, as he stepped back, letting Dean lead their way into his home. She returned his smile shyly, as she passed him, stuck close to Dean's side, with Sam bringing up the rear.</p><p>            The main entrance opened up into a short entrance hall that led to a ground floor living room, which was filled wall-to-wall with bookcases, and books that he really had no room for stacked upon the floor in various spots around the room. It was an organised mess, and really not something she would have pegged this man to have as a hobby, he didn't particularly look like a big reader. But as they say, never judge a book by it's cover, after all.</p><p>            Dean led their way over to a red sofa that resting against one wall, dropping into it with a tired groan, legs spread wide and knocking into her own as she took a seat much more timidly beside him. From where she sat, she could see various papers and pictures were pinned straight onto the wall between the large, curtained windows, though she couldn't quite make out what it was he was apparently researching. Instead, she turned her curious gaze about the room, taking in the dark red patterned wallpaper, decorated with a few tasteful landscape paintings hanging here and there.</p><p>            Sam took a seat perched upon the edge of Bobby’s desk, which occupies a position in front of the living room fireplace, having to bat away a persistent swing-arm-magnifying-lamp that was attached to the desk when it japed against his broad shoulder as he sat down. While Bobby himself took a seat in a red armchair matching the sofa she and Dean currently occupied, leaning forward towards them, with his forearms resting comfortably upon his spread knees. </p><p>           "She doesn't talk at all then, I take it?" He asked of her brothers, even as his kind eyes met her own includingly, prompting her to answer him with an awkward smile and a head shake, even as Sam spoke for her, "No, she has Neurogenic mutism from a car accident, she uses sign language to communicate."</p><p>           "Well, it's not a language I've ever sort to learn myself, but I'll have to give it a go, I suppose," Bobby mused in soft gruffness, scratching a hand down his beard, "Can't very well have you staying here with no one to talk to, can we, little miss?"</p><p>           The easy and ready way he just accepted her and her disability warmed Sandy, letting her relax more comfortably back into the sofa she sat upon, as she shot him a more at ease smile of her own. Clearly, one of her brothers had taken the time to put in a call to Bobby to explain some of their situations to him, given that he was taking her presence in his house in stride with very little question, plus he was already aware of her lack of speech before she had even had cause to converse with her hands.  </p><p>           "I've set up the guest room with clean sheets," Bobby explained to her, with a kind smile and a slightly embarrassed shrug, "It ain't much, but it's got a bed, a wardrobe and four walls, all of which you can do what you like with."</p><p>           "Sandy here has got quite the sweet vinyl record collection, Bobby," Dean bragged with a pleased smile curling up his handsome face, as he slung an arm to lay comfortably along the back of the sofa they sat upon, "A true classic rock fan."</p><p>           "We brought them with us," Sam explained with a gentle smile at his brother's overly pleased expression, clearly bemused by the sheer contentment Dean was getting from the simple fact that she liked the same music as he did, "They're all boxed up out in the impala."</p><p>           "Well now, we'll see about getting them up to ya' room after dinner," Bobby chuckled, clearly just as amused by Dean's antics as his brother was, "Have a Lasagna cooking in the oven - I ain't the best cook in the world, but it'll do in a pinch - hope you're all hungry, I made enough to feed a small army."</p><p>           "You know it, Bobby," Dean eagerly rubbed his hands together, as he pushed himself to his feet, hightailing it straight for where she could only assume the kitchen was located.</p><p>           With a snort, Bobby pushed up from his seat too, following after Dean with a gruff shout of, "Don't you dare go messing with my food, boy!"</p><p>           Seeing that Sam was climbing to his feet too, chuckling in amusement of his own, Sandy too pulled herself to her feet, waiting to follow as he moved to lead the way after the others. The kitchen was just off the living room through pocket sliding doors, large enough for them all to occupy comfortably, and smelling so good Sandy's belly purred in response.</p><p>           She came to sit beside Sam, who had taken a seat at the wooden dining table, taking in the blue and white titled space with curious interest just as she had done with the living room. It was adorned with white doored cabinets and free-standing cupboards, with an ugly green patterned wallpaper that was clearly placed there in the 80s, and picturesque white shuttered windows. The refrigerator was a small, white, 1960’s era model, with a matching stove, that Sandy found oddly charming.</p><p>           The only thing that drew Sandy up short, finding it rather odd at the very least, was the row of landlines adoring the wall space next to one of the windows. There she counted five cordless phones, each labelled with a different government agency and alias on the front of them via masking tape and black sharpy, looking very <em>un</em>official, to say the least. </p><p>           "She's gonna' need some new I.D., Bobby," Dean stated, as he pulled a beer for him, Sam and Bobby from the fridge, looking up to ask her if she wanted an orange juice. At her nod, he pulled out a cardboard carton, moving to get a glass cup from the cupboard overhead, as he continued speaking to Bobby. "We had to fake her death, so she's gonna' need the whole shebang - she was being homeschooled, but Sam managed to find some of the documentation her mom kept for that, so we can doctor that easily enough."</p><p>            "I'll get started on it in the morning," Bobby agreed with a nod, as he pulled the Lasagna from the oven, bringing it over to place upon a heat-proof mat on the dining table, while Sam went about setting out plates and cutlery for them all. "You still gonna' be here by then?"</p><p>           Sandy blinked up at him, surprised by that, having not realised that her brothers might have planned on simply just dropping her off here and moving right on after. Dean had hinted to as much, now that she thought about it, but the reality of it was only just now hitting her - they were going to leave her behind. Sure, she didn't wanna' hunt, at least not any time soon, but she didn't want them to leave her behind either, not after she'd only just found them.</p><p>           Seeing her distress, Sam smiled gently down at her, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder as he passed to take his own seat beside her, "Nah, Bobby, reckon we'll stay a few days if that's alright with you?"</p><p>           "Don't bother me none," Bobby agreed with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, though Sandy could tell he was just as pleased by Sam's words as Sandy was relieved. "I put clean sheets on the beds in your rooms too, just in case."</p><p>           They must know Bobby pretty well, and for a long time too, she reckoned, at least if they were welcome enough to have their own designated rooms within his home. She wondered for a moment if he was somehow related to them, but he didn't look it for a start, and she was sure Sam, Dean, or Bobby himself, would have mentioned it by now if he were. </p><p>           They sure acted like family though, bickering and joking around the dining table as they shared a meal together, with a conversation that was easy and flowed naturally without any awkwardness. They even thought to include her in their conversations, with Sam translating, for the most part, and more than happy to do so too, eager to brush the dust of an old skill he had thought he had forgotten years ago. </p><p>             But despite the warm smile that curved her heartshaped face, Sandy was crying on the inside, reminded of the last family dinner she had had with Adam and her mom, a mere week before monsters became a real thing to concern herself with. Adam had been visiting for the weekend from school, and mom had had only morning shifts that week, meaning that they all had managed to find time to spend having dinner together, with their mom's questionably cooking to fill their bellies instead of take-out or microwave ready-meals. </p><p>             It had all been so imperfectly perfect. So <em>normal</em>. The biggest problem they had had to content themselves with was with Mrs Hewitt's apple tree next door, which was a cooking apple tree, meaning that it grew about three-times larger fruit than a regular apple tree would. So when they dropped, the apples did some serious damage to whatever had the misfortune to be beneath it, meaning her mom's minivan, which took a regular beating despite being parked in their own driveway. They'd politely asked Mrs Hewitt if Adam could cut the tree back just a bit to keep it off the property some, but the old bat wouldn't have it, had even threatened to call the sheriff station once when Adam had tried to do so anyway.</p><p>             It all seemed soo silly now, the trivial crap that had seemed so important before, to think that the biggest problem she would have to face in a day was clearing someone of Mrs Hewitt's freakishly large apples out of the drive so her mom could park without crushing them into the seams of their patio. Now, the simple task of facing the day was her biggest struggle, so flagged down by grief and fear as she was, with her life completely upended. </p><p>             She had so many questions, questions she doubted that her brothers had even thought of, like how she was going to finish her schooling? She very much doubted they were going to arrange for private tutors to some around weekly to teach her, as her mom had. Or about her living situation, was she just going to live here with Bobby, a stranger who she had no relation to what-so-ever, while they left to places unknown in search for monsters to hunt? And the questions about 'hunting' that she had alone was extensive, as well as about their father, of what he was really like. </p><p>              The thought of him made her subconsciously bring a hand up to the pendant adorning her neck, fishing it out from beneath her jumper, where she could then run the pad of her thump over the strange and yet ornate pictorial lettering etched on the face of the silver disc. She wondered, not for the first time, what it meant - she hadn't had the chance to ask John himself, it had been a parting gift he hadn't stayed around long enough to personally give her, after all. But then she remembered Dean's attention to it, while they packed a bag in her room, he'd said it was Enochian, and that Sam would probably know what it meant. </p><p>             Sitting back in her chair, having long since finished her meal, as had the others, Sandy turned to gently tap Sam upon his arm, mindful of his bandages. He turned from listening to Bobby's and Dean's conversation to give her his full attention with a genuine smile. She was noticing that more and more with Sam, all his smiles towards her were open and honest, softening up his face in a way that almost made her forget he tried to use her as bait to catch a monster - <em>almost</em>. </p><p>             "<em>Dean said you might know what this means</em>," she signed, before lifting her hand up to indicate her neckless briefly, before adding what she did know already, "<em>He said it was Enochian, but that he didn't know what it meant - John gave it to me, said it was for protection</em>."</p><p>             With a curious frown, Sam moved closer, all but totally invading her personal space, as he pinched the pendant between his large thumb and forefinger. "It's definitely Enchocian and definitely meant for protection, though it is not a symbol I have ever seen before, you'd have to ask Cas, I reckon."</p><p>             With a sigh she frowned, as he sat back from her, lifting his beer to his lips. "<em>Who is Cas?</em>" She wondered, she'd heard Sam mention him before, as they stood vigil by the pyre, in regards to possibly bringing her mom and Adam back to life. </p><p>             "Castiel, he's ah . . . a friend, I guess," Sam explained with an awkward shrug, letting her know this was probably the first time he had had to define that particular relationship, "He's an Angel - like an honest-to-God Angel of the Lord - he's been helping us out recently. He's <em>Dean's</em> Angel," he finished with his voice being just shy of mocking, as he used his fingers to add air-quotes around Dean's name with a little snort of amusement aimed at his now scowling brother. </p><p>             "He's not <em>my</em> Angel," Dean rebuffed, mimicking the air-quotes motion, as he glared irritably across the table at his brother, "Don't get mad just 'cause he likes me better, Sammy."</p><p>             "<em>Can I meet him?</em>" Sandy asked with eager hand motions and a soft little smile gracing her face. </p><p>             If he really were an Angel, then he would know better than anyone else if her mom and brother were in Heaven, which had to be real if Angels were, right? They were good people, her mom had spent the whole of her adult life fixing people up for a living, and Adam had been well on his way to learning to do the same - Sandy saw no logical reason that, if Heave was real, that they then wouldn't be in it. </p><p>             Because, sure, if Heaven existed then so would Hell surely, balance and all that, can't have light without dark. But only bad people went to hell, right? Not hard-working, fundamentally good people, who had nothing but love in their hearts. Even still, it would be nice to hear the confirmation of that theory straight from a real honest-to-God Angel's mouth. Plus . . . <em>Angels</em>, who <em>wouldn't</em> wanna' meet one, right? Sandy wondered if they really had the whole feathered-winged, halo, harp-playing thing going on? Did they even look human?</p><p>             "She wants to know if she can meet him," Sam explained for Bobby and Dean, the latter of whom shrugged, saying, "Don't see why not - you wanna' pray to him or should I?"</p><p>             "You do it," Sam chuckled, settling more comfortably back in his chair, "As you said, he likes <em>you</em> better."</p><p>             With a resigned sigh, Dean placed his beer on the table before him, before closing his eyes and holding his hands out palms up, saying, "Well, let's give it a shot. I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here - uh . . . please."</p><p>             For a moment nothing happened at all, while Sandy held her breath in anticipation, sitting on the edge of her seat, wide eyes eagerly fixed upon Dean. Who dropped his hands and looked around him, looking put-out for a second, thinking he was being ignored by his Angel friend, no doubt. But then, with a soft thump and the whispering of feathers, a man appeared directly behind Dean, causing her brother to jump near a foot in the air in surprise. </p><p>             "Damn it, Cas," Dean exclaimed, hand coming up to rest against his now beating heart, "What did I say about popping in behind me?"</p><p>             "Not to." The entirely <em>human</em>-looking man answered back simply, voice completely monotoned, with his almost innocent-looking eyes of blue fixed unwaveringly upon the side of Dean's now turned head.  </p><p>             Shooting the Angel a flat look, Dean shook off his exasperation with a huff, before he motioned towards her, "Cas, I'd like you to meet my sister, Sandy - Sandy, meet Castiel, bad-ass Angel of the Lord."</p><p>             The Angel's attention flipped from her brother onto her quicker than flipping a switch, as he stepped around the table to get a closer look at her, blue eyes unblinking in his focus. It was like he was looking into her, which was more than a little unnerving, causing her to shift nervously in her seat under the weight of his intensity.</p><p>             "I was not aware you had a sister, Dean," the dark-haired Angel spoke, head tilting to one side, not unlike a curious dog would, it was an overall adorably look upon the scruffy-haired man. </p><p>             "Yeah, you and me both, buddy," Dean snorted, taking a sip from his beer, "Dad never told us about her."</p><p>             "She has a soul much like yours, Dean," Castiel stated, as one would comment on the weather and not spiritual light that lived behind a person's eyes, or so people claim. "All light and inherently good - very beautiful."</p><p>             "<em>Thank you</em>," Sandy felt the need to say - as her brother blushed from the unintended compliment on his 'beautiful' soul hers was apparently so like - she'd just got her soul complimented on by a freaking Angel, it would be rude <em>not</em> to thank him, right? </p><p>             "You're most welcome, Sandy," Castiel responded before Sam could even open his mouth to translate for her, getting a collective wave of surprise by all in the kitchen. </p><p>             "<em>You can understand me?</em>" Sandy signed in wonder, awed by the fact that an Angel knew sign language, like . . . <em>seriously</em>, how freaking cool was that!</p><p>             "Yes, I speak every known language known to man, and some that are not," Castiel explained, hands moving to clasp behind his back, head still tilted to the side again, as his eyes flickered their way over her head curiously, like he was searching for something deep inside of it, "You have scar tissue on your brain, I assume that is where your lack of verbal communication comes from, yes?"</p><p>             "<em>I was in a car accident a few years ago,</em>" Sandy explained with a nod, "<em>The doctors said I have something called 'Neurogenic mutism</em>.'"</p><p>             "Can you fix her," Dean wondered, eyes lighting up in hope, as he put his beer down and sat forward in his seat, "I mean, you said its just scar tissue right? You literally built me a new body, for christ's sake, a little scar tissue should be a walk in the park for you."</p><p>             A new body? Sandy gaped at her brother, eyes wide and demanding an explanation that didn't come as Castiel turned his gaze back to Dean, furrowed by confused brows, as he asked earnestly, "Why would I do that? She isn't broken."</p><p>             Silence fell over the kitchen in the wake of his words. </p><p>             Sandy had always considered herself at least a little broken because of her mutism, how could she not, when she was reminded every day that she was not like everyone else? Whether they meant to or not, people pitied her, unable to imagine just how horrible it would be for them if they too lost something as key in life as their voice. It wasn't key, of course, Sandy had learned rather quickly to live without her voice, it was everyone else around her that had struggled to adjust as quickly as she had. </p><p>             So it was nice, in every sense of the word, to have someone question why someone else would think she'd even <em>need</em> to be fixed in the first place when to them she wasn't yet broken. And to have that someone be an Angel, a being supposedly perfect in every way, was humbling, to say the least. It gave Sandy a sudden flush of warm self-love, as she smiled genuinely up at the Angel, feeling more normalised in that moment than she had since she woke up to realise that she <em>wasn't</em> normal any more.</p><p>             "<em>Thank you, Castiel</em>," Sandy signed to the Angel, getting a bemused look from him, clearly not understanding why she was thanking him, not that it mattered to Sandy, because <em>she</em> knew.</p><p>             "I haven't done anything worthy of being thanked," Castiel stated, which only softened Sandy's smile all the more, because he truly didn't understand why she was thanking him, to him his words must have been spoken in truth without any attempt to be kind; and that made his words all the more precious to Sandy.</p><p>              "You did more than you know, Angel-boy," Bobby mused, sharp eyes softening around the edges as he set them to rest upon Sandy's smile, taking a sip of his own beer to hide his own smile in response. </p><p>             More confused after Bobby's words than he was before, Castiel turned to Dean, asking, "Why have you called me here, Dean? You do not look to be needing my assistance."</p><p>             "I don't," Dean agreed, with an easy smile curling up his lips as he noted just how ruffled the Angel's feather's seemed to get at his words, "But Sandy here wanted to meet you, and I figure, given how invested you and your lot are in us Winchesters, that you'd want to meet her too."</p><p>             For a moment silence met his words, as Castiel stared at him with a slight frown, that slowly dissipated into a gentle and surprising look of pleasure, as he concluded, "I am very flattered and honoured that you would want me to meet your sister, Dean."</p><p>              Sandy couldn't help the silent giggle that came about at Dean's reaction to that, all red-cheeked and awkward throat-clearing indicating to his sudden discomfort, bringing her hand up to rest against her smile in an attempt to at least hid it, unlike Sam and Bobby, who laughed openly at his expense. It was cute though, she thought, to see just how flustered her big, tough, manly brother got in the face of an Angel giving him the equivalent of heart-eyes.</p><p>             "I didn't - She - I . . . Ah, to hell with the lot of you," Dean struggled to explain himself, which was all the more bemusing, simply because he clearly actually felt like he <em>had</em> to, "<em>Sandy</em> wanted to meet you, I have no opinion on the matter."</p><p>             But he quickly stammered out a follow-up, "But, you know, I - uh, I - It's good to see you too, buddy," when he saw just how far the Angel's face fell at his words. </p><p>             Smile renewed, Castiel said earnestly, "It is good to see you too, Dean."</p><p>             Dean blushed again, only slightly this time, head tilting down ever-so-slightly to hid it from the Angel, but Sandy still caught it. It made her blink in surprise before a gentle smile twitched at the corner of her lips, as she observed their interaction with a new light, wondering if maybe she was reading more into it than was actually there. But to her . . . well, it looked a little like some of the most awkward and unconsciously acted flirting in existence, but still, flirting all the same - <em>grade-school</em> level flirting to be sure.</p><p>             Did Angel's even feel attraction, she wondered curiously with a head tilt of her own as she watched them, weren't they supposed to be, you know, forever 'pure' or something like that? If she'd have to wager a guess though, she'd say Castiel was interested in her brother, even if he didn't yet understand it, at least if the way his already very intense gaze fixated upon Dean with an unwavering focus that seems to transcend pass mere flesh, straight down to his immortal soul - he's apparently very <em>beautiful</em> immortal soul.</p><p>             Eager to observe them some more, Sandy tapped the top of the dining table to get all their collective attention upon her, as she signed out, "<em>Can you stay, just for a bit, Castiel?</em>"</p><p>             "You have questions," he stated immediately with an understanding look, almost like he was reading her mind, in that flat tone of his, as she stood to her feet from the table. "About Heaven."</p><p>             "She just lost her mom and brother," Sam explained gently, as she stood from the table, prompting the others to go the same, with Bobby leading their way back into the living room; of a mind to clean up from dinner later she assumed, silently vowed to aid him in that endeavour.</p><p>             "Ah, yes, I can feel your loss now," Castiel nodded, as he fell into step beside her, with Dean on his other side, beer still in hand, "You have no reason to be so at pain, Sandy, they are in a better place. They are happy and are at peace now."</p><p>             Smiling with a little sniffle, Sandy nodded, signing, "<em>Thank you, I really needed to hear that.</em>"</p><p>             "Hey, hey, hey," Dean sounded, holding a halting hand up at them, as he crossed to drop heavily into the same spot he had occupied upon first arriving, "No more chick-flick moments."</p><p>             Even despite his dismissive words, he sent Sandy a teasing wink, patting the empty seat beside him in welcome. Sandy was quickly learning that her eldest brother was more than a little bit emotionally repressed, though he tried to comfort her as best he could, like with the quilt and collecting her mom's and Adam's jewellery from their bodies for her. But when it came to actually talk about his feelings or even the feelings of others around him . . . well, it was like getting blood from a stone, the complete opposite from Sam. </p><p>             But that was okay, if Sandy had learned anything in the handful of years living with mutism it was that words were overrated more often than not, actions spoke louder in her oh-so-humble opinion. </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. CH07, Small Towns and Necessary Evils</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bonding with Bobby . . .</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is a bit of a filler, I know, but I needed a way to introduce Sandy to someone minor characters (Jody) that become more important later, as long as my story stays on the course I'm setting, that is. And to build up her relationship with Bobby somewhat, since that will be a very important one for Sandy, just as it is for her brothers. x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The Rapture, S04E20</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>             <strong>I</strong>n the week and a half that Sandy spend living alone with Bobby, after her brothers had promptly left in search of a new hunt, Sandy had managed to fall into a comfortable rhythm of co-living with the gruff man. He'd left her alone only once in that allotted time, to investigate what he thought to be a ghost haunting a house in Grand Rapids, with a rather curt but undeniably funny man named Rufus. </p><p>            Even then, he was only gone a few days, all of which he made sure to video-call her every morning and night to be sure she was okay, making her promise time and time again that she wouldn't leave the safety of his panic room until he got back. Which had been fine by Sandy, she felt safe in there despite the multitude of unsettling occult runes painted in red on the walls, stocked up with unperishable food, binge reading the hunter-essential reading-list that Sam had made for her. Thankfully, there was a bathroom right outside the panic room in the basement, or Sandy might just have had to refuse his request that she stay put until he got back, because there was <em>no way</em> she was doing her business in a damn rusty bucket. </p><p>             Getting to know Bobby wasn't the easiest thing in the world, she'd freely admit, especially since he still didn't know enough sign language to follow a full and unhindered conversation with her - but he was making an active effort to learn. He'd even gone down to the library in town to pick up several books to help him along, which Sandy found endearingly sweet of him, happily helping him along when he practised with her.</p><p>             He didn't really say much, a man of few words she was learning, but that was okay, Sandy wasn't much of a talker herself - no pun intended. She was more than happy to curl up on his sofa and read one of his many books, trying to familiarise herself with the supernatural world that she now lived in, even if everything she read in those particular books only succeeded in scaring her all the more. Which was why, when Bobby asked if she wanted to accompany him into town for a food-shop that afternoon, she had eagerly jumped at the chance to take a break from reading about monsters and other truly horrifying things that go bump in the dark.</p><p>             Sioux Falls, Sandy was pleasantly surprised to find, was actually quite like her hometown, being that it was so small everyone literally knew everyone else. Sandy had always hated that about her hometown, before . . . well, before she had had to leave it, but now, she found it rather comforting really. It felt deceptively safe, but she knew better now, she knew not to blindly trust that it actually was. But even with that being said, she also knew Bobby now too, and so she knew that no matter what evils might be lurking about the small town he'd keep her safe, he had a helping hand in training her brothers, after all. </p><p>             He'd offered to train her too, but Sandy just wasn't ready, and Bobby thankfully understood. He did insist that she carry a small, inconspicuous silver flip knife with her though, just in case, of which Sandy took more than happily. She kept it tucked in the neck of her Dr Marten boot, stuck in place with heavy-duty duct-tape, it was a make-shift hold at best, but at least she knew it would always be close at hand if she actually did need it. After all, her jeans were far too tight to hide it if she ever actually did find herself in more monster trouble, not that the four and a half-inch flip-blade would have actually fit in any of her pockets, girls' jeans were simply not made with sizeable pockets like their male counterparts were - an unfair double standard if there ever was one, she thought personally.</p><p>             As they walked the town, several people greeted Bobby in passing, but none stopped to have a proper conversation, though they all did give her more than enough curious looks to border on being just a shy of rude. And since Sandy was a bit of a self-appointed wallflower herself, she tends not to like to draw attention to herself usually, which made her skin prickle uncomfortably now that she couldn't hide from the attention currently aimed her way. The only one to stop and actually talk to them was a woman, who did a double-take when she saw Bobby and Sandy walking across the street towards where she walked, heading towards the same supermarket. </p><p>             "Bobby," the woman greeted, drawing Bobby to a stop a few feet away, as he returned her greeting with a nod and a curt, "Sheriff Mills."</p><p>             It wasn't an unfriendly greeting by any stretch, but it wasn't exactly the warmest one she'd ever borne witness to either, that was for sure. Clearly, this Sheriff Mills and Bobby have a history, at least if the woman's suspicious little eye-squint was anything to go by, and the uncomfortable squirming that Bobby did in response to it, which made Sandy smile a little in amusement; totally at his expense, of course. Sandy didn't find the fact that Bobby wasn't the most upstanding citizen in the town all that surprising, not when she knew what he did for a living, and just how easy he had made her a whole new fake life on paper - it spoke of a certain level of comfort and experience that she didn't quite know what to do with.</p><p>             Sure, being a criminal was obviously wrong, but . . . if his crimes helped him save lives . . . well, Sandy didn't see a need to condemn a man for toeing the line precariously. Plus, he had been good to Sandy since the moment she met him, letting her live with him without question, not to mention making an effort to learn a whole new skill just so he could communicate with her. It was certainly more than most did in her experience, so who was she to judge him really, he was a grown man for God's sake, as well as the fact that he'd probably been doing his questionable manner of business for far longer than she'd even been alive.  </p><p>             It was actually quite funny, to observe the usually unshakable and no-nonsense man that Bobby was, so obviously intimidated by a pretty, bob-haired woman, who, while tall for most women, was still near a whole head shorter than him. But given his lifestyle and the illegality of it all, she supposed he had had cause to cross the Sheriff's path a time or two, and most probably not in the best of lights either, if the woman's finely-arched scrutinising brow was anything to go by.</p><p>             "And who might this be?" Sheriff Mills asked of her, with her smile becoming sincere as it turned upon Sandy, making her look even more pretty as the sunlight glinted off of her lip-balmed coated lips.</p><p>             Not lipgloss, Sandy noted, as she took the woman's easy no-fuss appearance from the short-haired head, down to the comfortable clothes, and then right down to her practical beige Timberland boots. She dressed exactly how her brothers and Bobby himself dressed actually: simple blue jeans, a plain blue t-shirt, covered by a blue and red plaid overshirt. </p><p>             "This is Sandy Winchester, my niece," Bobby offered out curtly and without hesitation, using her new fake name and relationship-status to him for the first time, of which got a soft little smile from Sandy in response.</p><p>             It had only made sense to them all for her to take the Winchester name as her own, but Sandy still found herself embarrassingly pleased as punch to use the name, making her feel more connected to her wayward brothers than she had as a Milligan. Sure, she missed her given name, not because it sounded more favourable or anything like that, but because of how it connected her to her mom and Adam. But since she could no longer use it since 'Sandy Milligan' was now technically dead and all, Winchester was the next best thing, and she quite liked the sound of it too - Sandy Winchester - it had a nice ring to it.</p><p>             "Well now, Sandy, it's a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart," Sheriff Mills greeted genuinely, light eyes warm and smile easy, much more so than when she looked Bobby's way. "I'm Jody."</p><p>             "<em>It's nice to meet you too, Jody</em>," Sandy signed back, with an honest smile of her own, going slow enough so that hopefully Bobby wouldn't have too much trouble translating for her.</p><p>             "Err . . ." Bobby sounded right on cue, as he followed her hand moments with a sharp but panicked eye, with a calloused hand coming up to adjust the beak of his cup absentmindedly, "I <em>think</em> she said that it's nice to meet you too."</p><p>             "You <em>think</em>?" Jody highlighted with a rise of her finely-defined brows, "You mean you don't <em>know</em> what your own niece is saying?"</p><p>             "Hey," Bobby exclaimed in self-defence in the wake of her needling judgement, "I'm still learning - had no reason to before now. Her, ah . . . her mom's passed on, and her brothers travel too much for work, so she's gonna' be staying with me for now."</p><p>             "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart," Jody said earnestly, eyes sad as she took in just how young Sandy looked, too young for a girl to lose her mom, that was for sure. "Well, I best let you go, got shopping of my own to do," she stepped back with a smile, more towards Sandy than Bobby's way, with a genuine, "It was nice to meet you, Sandy," and a curt parting of, "Bobby."</p><p>             With a little wave, Sandy followed a grumbling Bobby over to the shopping-trollies, pulling it out before he could, only so she'll have something to do while they walked around the shop - it was his shopping list, after all.</p><p>             "That woman <em>hates</em> me, I swear," Bobby mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear, as he pulled out his scribbled-out shopping list, "She can smell a lie better than a sniffer dog, I tell ya'."</p><p>             With a soundless chuckle, Sandy just shook her head at the man who had insisted on using one of his <em>many</em> illegally obtained credit cards to buy her essentially a whole new wardrobe worth of clothes. He had thought nothing of it, using cards under a multitude of names, none of which were his own, claiming that she couldn't just live with her one bag's worth of clothes when even he had more to his name than that - while Sandy had just gaped like a fish up at him. Because it wasn't normal, or socially acceptable, it was freaking credit card fraud for Goodness sake, but to him and her brothers, it was all par for the course.  </p><p>             And while she liked to think of herself as a generally good, law-abiding citizen, she didn't protest his offer nearly as much as she probably should have, even if her face did clearly read her discomfort for all who bothered to look. Not because it was a shopping-trip dedicated to her that he was offering, she wasn't that kinda girl, jeans and a sweatshirt were fine for her. But because the simple truth was, she did actually need more clothes to her name, two outfits were not enough, not even for a minimalistic girl such as herself.</p><p>             And to be fair, it was actually proving to be quite fun as it turned out, clothes shopping with Bobby that is, he was very opinionated and was quick to tell her what he thought looked bad - which turned out to be anything <em>not</em> plaid really. She threw in a few shirts just to appease him and his instance of it being an essential item for one's wardrobe, despite the fact that she was more inclined to select hoodies and wool jumpers, the bigger the better, of which she selected plenty of. A few graphic tees and some plain ones later, as well as a range of varying shades of jeans, he sent her off to select some underwear while he started on the food shop.  </p><p>             Of which was just as pleasant as the clothes shopping had been, once she rejoined him with an armful of unmentionables less than twenty minutes later, tucking them out of sight beneath some of her chosen clothes with a slight blush to her cheeks. He was quick to include her in the process, asking her what she wanted or liked to eat, throwing it all into the trolly with his own choices without issue or debate, not even when it came to the junk food aisles. </p><p>             And while his clumsy attempts at sign language left something to be desired, his understanding of what she was trying to say come easier for him, which meant she could talk more to him as the day dragged onwards. In fact, by the time they were back in his truck and pulling out of the spot where he'd parked it on the street just down the way from the store, he was comfortable enough in his understanding of her quick hand motions that he bearly frowned down at her paused confusion at all anymore. </p><p>             But most importantly, Bobby had the same musical ear that she and Dean had found they had in common, so the drive back to the house was accompanied by the sounds of classic rock tunes instead of silence, which suited Sandy just fine, as she bobbed her head along to Bob Dylan's 'Like a rolling stone'. </p><p>             But even still, despite very much liking Bobby and his company, Sandy still felt the need for some alone time every now and again, especially after spending all day in the company of the man. Something that went both ways, if his easy acceptance of her repetitive disappearances were anything to go by. Sometimes it was just because her brain was turning to mush from reading too much occult in one sitting, other times she could tell Bobby needed a little alone time himself, but most of the time she retreated to her room when she was just plain sad and wanted to be alone to lose herself in it. That was her griefing process, apparently, to just go let herself be sad for a short while alone. </p><p>             Which was why Sandy found herself back up in her room, the one Bobby had graciously given her, wherein Dean had taken the time to bring up and then set up her beloved record collection for her. She had taken the time right after arriving back into her work-in-progress room, to sort out her new clothes and put them away, and all the 'girly-bits' as Bobby had called them, such as hairbrushes and a plethora of scrunchies of all styles and patterns.  </p><p>             One of which she took in hand, and a brush in the other, as she made her way over to her bed, already working the flat brush through her thick, pale, golden locks. Placing the brush on her nightstand, Sandy tucked the silky-black scrunchie up onto her wrist, as she started sectioning her hair from the very front of her crown, adding to the three sections as she worked her way down the back, braiding it into a comfortably tight french-braid. Her hair was so long now that she had to move the tail over her shoulder and hold the length out away from her with her arms stretched just so she could finish the braid all the way down to the ends, wherein she pulled the scrunchie down from her wrist, binding it several times around to hold her efforts in place.</p><p>             Done with that self-appointed task, Sandy wondered what she should do with herself now, as she looked about her still rather sparse room contemplatingly. They had had dinner while they were out, pulling into a McDonald's on their way home, eating out in the car parked out front of the restaurant, neither feeling too inclined to go in and deal with more people after the day of shopping that they had had, so she had no reason to head back downstairs. Nor did she feel so inclined to read another book, her brain was overloading on monsters as it was, which left her with very little to do.</p><p>             So with a huff, Sandy crossed to her now newly full wardrobe, pulling out a PJ set that they had bought that day - pink, white, and grey <em>plaid</em> bottoms, of course, and an oversized grey long-sleeved t-shirt that had 'Nap Queen' printed on the front in pink. It was too early for bed, but that didn't mean she couldn't be comfortable, so with that in mind, she shed her clothes, throwing them into the laundry hamper in the corner of her room. Pulling her new PJ's on with a pleased little hum, as they brushed softly against her skin, with the sleeves falling down to rest way past her finger-tips, just how she liked it, finishing the look off with a pair of hot-pink fluffy socks.</p><p>             Comfortably decked out, Sandy crossed to her records, pulling out her Eagles Album, shoulders completely unwinding as Hotel California sounded around the room at a pleasing level. Music now set up, Sandy flopped down on her new bed, eyes closing almost immediately, far from sleep, as she listened, unintentionally growing sadder with every song that passed her by.</p><p>             Without the distractions of everyday life, Sandy couldn't help but let her mind wander to all that she had lost with a heavy heart, and as the hours passed, and despite whatever album she put on, no matter how upbeat, Sandy couldn't seem to let go of her increasingly sorrowful mood. She wasn't crying, thank God for small mercies because she'd done more than enough of that already, but she certainly felt like it, with her throat thick and chest constricting painfully, as she tried to blink her pain vainly away.</p><p>             At least, she had been, until a shout from somewhere down below shocked her into abruptly sitting up, with a startled hand coming to rest upon her now beating heart, as she sat frozen and indecisive. Ordinarily, someone shouting like <em>that</em> in your house would prompt you to go check it out, but given all that Sandy now knew . . . well, she was understandably hesitant and wholeheartedly reluctant to do so. But then the shout came again, just as pained and frightened as it had been just moments before, only this time it was a clear shout, of her brother's name "Dean!", paired with a desperate "Please!"</p><p>             It sounded like Sam.</p><p>             With the fear of losing yet another brother driving her into out-of-character action, Sandy crawled from her bed, plucking the silver knife from her boot as she went, tossing the duck-tap to the side carelessly with shaking hands. She tip-toed out of her room in sock-clad feet, down the hall, then the stairs, and then down farther still, to the basement, where Bobby's panic-room-of-crazy was housed. The closer she came to the sounds the more unnerved, scared, and just plain confused she grew because it was <em>definitely</em> Sam making the sounds, only . . . it sounded like he was begging for Dean and Bobby to let him out of somewhere, the panic room, no doubt . . . meaning that they had probably locked him in there in the first place.</p><p>             When her sock-clad feet finally touched the cold stone of the basement's floor, Sandy took in the scene with curious but cautious eyes. Dean was who she saw first, leaning perched upon a desk, having not noticed her in his anguish, arms crossed across his chest, as he stared fixed down at the floor with his jaw clenched so hard Sandy feared for his poor teeth. He looked sad, angry, and scared all at once, flinching with every one of Sam's frantic screams, even while he made no move to help his trapped brother.</p><p>             Sam's shouts were coming from within Bobby's panic-room, just as she had suspected, which was firmly locked tight, though the reason for that still alluded Sandy. Closing and putting her flip-knife down on one of the many tables in the basement as she passed through it, Sandy walked into the chaos, finally alerting the men to her presence. Bobby was the first to see her, with a sad and resigned look his eyes, very much looking his age more than ever in that moment. </p><p>             "<em>What is happening?</em>" Sandy signed slowly for Bobby's benefit, "<em>Why is Sam locked in there?</em>"</p><p>             "It's a long story, sweetheart," Bobby answered evasively, clearly not wanting to be the one to explain the situation to her, as he looked to Dean, who still stubbornly glared down at his feet, not looking to be the one to take over that unwanted task. </p><p>             "<em>That's not an answer, Bobby</em>," Sandy signed, as she pushed past him gently, stepping up to the open slot in the panic room's door, with her heart cleaving clean in two as she spied Sam, putting actions to his frantic shouts if not yet context.</p><p>             He was hunched over in the middle of the room, sitting on the floor, with his back pressed half against the cot behind him, head in hands, fingers tugging painfully at his long locks of brown. Moving on instinct, Sandy's hand went straight to the sliding lock without conscious thought at the sight of him. But before she could pull the bolt back all the way, Dean was there, large calloused hand closing tight over the top of her own, sliding it firmly back in place.</p><p>             She frowned in distressed confusion up at him towering over her, wide and wet green eyes all but outright begging for him to explain, as she let him remove her hand from the door altogether. He held it in her own for a brief moment, as if he needed that small fleeting moment of contact as much as she did, squeezing her hand uncomfortably tight before dropping it back down to her side.</p><p>             "I know it may not seem like it, Sandy," Dean finally spoke, voice low and gravelly sounding, the emotional pain clear to hear in it despite his best efforts to hide it behind a locked jaw, "But this is for his own good."</p><p>             She wanted to believe him, but as another one of Sam's tortured cries echoed off the iron walls her heart protested his treatment, she couldn't help but wonder what on earth could possibly warrant for <em>this</em> being for his own good. </p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. CH08, A Scream a Day Keeps the Devil Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>When the Levee Breaks, S04E21</strong>
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<hr/><p> </p><p>             <strong>A</strong> full week had come and gone since Sandy had first stumbled down into the basement, finding Dean, Bobby, and a locked away Sam in the panic-room, all so he can detox from the demon blood. Yeah, that's right, you read that correctly because apparently, a demon blood high was a thing now too. Hell, coming to terms that <em>Demons</em> themselves was a real thing was bad enough. Even though, of course, she had figured they had to exist, at least if Angels did, right? The good and the bad come hand-in-hand, after all. But that didn't make the confirmation any easier to handle, that was for sure. </p><p>             Her world, it seemed, just kept getting scarier and scarier by day. </p><p>             So here she sat, curled up in the red arm-chair in Bobb's living room, jean-clad knees tucked up to her red-hoodie adorned chest, with her arms caging them. She probably looked as small as she felt in that moment, flinching as another one of Sam's cries echoed throughout the whole damn house, feelingly like another painful shard of glass straight to her heart.</p><p>             It was so hard to sit back and do nothing as he screamed and cried, suffering from actual withdrawal symptoms, which included some pretty nasty hallucinations, at least if his one-sided conversations were anything to go by. She'd been down to see him only once, the first morning after he was first locked up, to bring him food, and promptly regretted going at all. He looked like a drug-addict, totally strung out, begging for his next fix like a dehydrated man begging for water. It had been too hard to watch, and now that she had seen his pained eyes first hand, she could see nothing else when his disembodied voice screamed and cried out from below. </p><p>             "How long is this gonna go on?" Dean asked tiredly, as Bobby poured out two glasses of whiskey, handing one to Dean.</p><p>             None of them had gotten any real sleep, not with Sam screaming at all hours, but Dean even less so than her and Bobby. He was running on fumes, and to be quite honest, in desperate need of a shower; he smelt like a bar stool. Not surprising, since if he wasn't sleeping he was most likely drinking, which meant that <em>that</em> was pretty much all he had done all week as they waited Sam's detox out. Sandy was really hoping that his drinking was strictly situational, and not a regular problem of his, but by the way that he swallowed back that amber liquid so easily . . . she worried; because the last thing she wanted on top of a blood-junky brother was another with an alcohol problem.</p><p>             Her list of fucked-up was simply getting too damn long.</p><p>             "Here, let me look it up in my demon-detox manual . . . Oh, <em>wait</em>. No one ever wrote one," Bobby snarked, angry frustration masking his own tired worry weakly, as he all but downed his three-fingers in one go, "No telling how long it'll take. Hell, or if Sam will even <em>live</em> through it."</p><p>             Sandy refused to even entertain such a thought - Sam <em>wasn't</em> going to die - if only because her heart couldn't bear to lose another person. Another brother. The brother who was actively trying to get to know her, video-calling her every evening to talk to her on his laptop, while he and Dean were bedding down in some crappy motel for the night. A commitment that she found all the more sweet and heartwarming, considering he had obviously dealing with some pretty hardcore withdrawal symptoms at the time, and yet he had still found time for her.</p><p>             The phone rings.</p><p>             Bobby sighs tiredly, moving to answer it, slamming his empty glass down on the coffee table, "Hello . . . Suck dirt and die, Rufus. You call me again, I'll kill you."</p><p>             Despite being relatively used to Bobby's gruffness by now, Sandy still blinked up at the man in genuine surprise at the way he had just spoken to what she thought was a friend, guess she'd pegged that relationship wrong, huh. </p><p>             "What's up with Rufus?" Dean was the one to ask, not looking too concerned, but given everything going on with Sam she couldn't really blame him.</p><p>             "He <em>knows</em>," Bobby grumbled by way of answer, as vague as it was, right as the phone rang again. </p><p>             Sandy could only assume Bobby was referring to the fact that they were currently living pre-apocalypse, another exciting information bomb they had dropped on her when they got around to finally explaining locking Sam away that first night. So she now knew more than she had been prepared for, like the fact that her brothers, with the help of Bobby and Castiel, were actively trying to stop Lilith's - a hella' evil not-child-child-demon - plan of breaking the 66 Seals to unlock a cage in Hell. Yep, Hell's real too, wherein which then will allow the release of the fallen archangel, Lucifer, the freaking <em>Devil</em> himself, who was once the favoured angel of God but rebelled against Heaven for refusing to serve humans and therefore was cast down and banished. </p><p>             All totally <em>fun</em> stuff, right? <em>Not</em>. It was definitely one of those answers to a question you regret ever asking, to be sure.</p><p>             They'd told her it all dead-panned like it was freaking normal run of the mill hunter stuff, and not seven shades of totally and completely insane! Now, Sandy wasn't an expert on hunting literally anything, and yet, she didn't think it was particularly normal to be fighting against the freaking Devil. It was all too crazy, like full-on bag-of-cats crazy, and she had actually had to go lay down for a bit after she learned it all. Either that or pass out in the middle of Bobby's living room, she chose the option that allowed for her to retain some dignity, even if it meant running away from the truth to process for a few hours under the relative safety of her blankets. </p><p>             With a frustrated growl, Bobby snapped the phone once again up to his ear, answering with an abrasive, "I'm busy, you son of a bitch. This better be important."</p><p>             And it really must have been, for Bobby grew immediately quiet as he listened, face growing more weathered and pale as the minutes ticked on, while Sandy and Dean impatiently waited to ask <em>why</em>. But before they could, Bobby was rushing passed them, to his ancient computer, already tapping away things into the search-engine that Rufus was assumedly voicing to him, phone precariously wedged between his shoulder and ear. He pulled up several different articles, while Rufus' voice carried faintly through the phone, frustratingly unclear but still audible enough to give away his own concern. </p><p>             Bobby hung up without even so much as a goodbye, as he tossed the phone aside in favour of grabbing a large and dust addled tome, opening it to a bookmarked page, scanning the contents with a resigned sigh of dread. <em>That</em> was scary in of itself, seeing a man like Bobby Singer look afraid . . . It was probably that look on the man's face that made Dean wait, albeit impatiently so, arms cross and jaw clenching at rapid intervals. Clearly, patience wasn't one of her big brother's virtues, but she'll give him points for effort. </p><p>             "The news . . ." Bobby grimaced, as sat back in his desk chair, hand coming up to adjust his hat in that 'tell' of unease that he had, "The news ain't good."</p><p>             Coming over to look over Bobby's shoulder, Dean flipped through some of the articles that Bobby had read, scoffing, "<em>This</em> is what Rufus called about? 'Key West sees ten species go extinct'."</p><p>             "Yep. Plus Alaska: Fifteen-man fishing crew all stricken blind, cause unknown," Bobby informed gravely, as he moved to open a different tab on his screen for Dean to see, "New York: teacher goes postal, locks the door, kills exactly sixty-six kids. All this in a single day. I just looked them up. There's no doubt about it. They're all seals. Breaking. Fast."</p><p>             "How many are left?" Dean dared to ask, even though by his expression he was probably of the same mind as Sandy and would much rather not know, if only not to invite more problems to their already boatload of them.</p><p>             "Who knows? Can't be many," Bobby answered with a shrug, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, asking with an irritated grumble, "Where the hell are your angel pals?"</p><p>             "You tell me," Dean shrugged right on back, before moving away to take a seat on the edge of Bobby's desk, a hand immediately coming up to run through his short hair.</p><p>             "I'm just wondering . . ." Bobby mumbled back, empty glass finding its way back onto the desk's surface, not looking too pleased by Dean's answer.</p><p>             "What?" Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he shot Bobby a tired glare from over his fingers, clearly knowing Bobby well enough to hear what Bobby wasn't saying in his voice.</p><p>             "The apocalypse being nigh and all . . ." Bobby broached cautiously, clearly of the mind that Dean wasn't going to like what he had to say, just like Sandy feared she might not like it either, "Is now <em>really</em> the right time to be having this little domestic drama of ours?"</p><p>             "What do you mean?" Dean asked with a confused frown, hand dropping away from his face, as he turned to look directly at Bobby from over his shoulder.</p><p>             "Well, I don't like this any more than you do, but Sam can kill demons," Bobby edged carefully, looking like he didn't want to be saying any more than Dean looked to be wanting to be hearing it, "He's got a shot at stopping Armageddon."</p><p>             "So what? Sacrifice Sam's life, his <em>soul</em>, for the greater good?" Dean shot to his feet, spinning on Bobby with an enraged look, arms flung out at his sides, "Is <em>that</em> what you're saying? Times are bad, so let's use Sam as a nuclear warhead?"</p><p>             "Look, I know you hate me for suggesting it," Bobby sighed, leaning back into his desk chair, eyes anguished as they locked on Dean's own, "<em>I</em> hate me for suggesting it. I love that boy like a son. All I'm saying is maybe he's here right now instead of on the battlefield because we love him too much."</p><p>             "<em>It wouldn't be worth it</em>," Sandy signed, after tapping on the coffee table before her with her knuckles to get their attention, finally adding her two-cents into the argument, "<em>He'd need more Demon blood, he can't stop anything in the state that he's in. Now, I may not know much about Demons and all that stuff, but I know enough of the world to know that feeding someone's habit is never a good idea, especially when it leaves them like that . . . no one is ever expendable. Sam is not expendable</em>."</p><p>             "I only caught, like . . .half at that, and that's me being generous to myself," Dean sighed, as he shot her a tired half-smile that wasn't even close to reaching his eyes, though it did have Sandy smiling a little more genuinely, knowing that he had been obviously practising his Sign-Language if he understood enough to catch anything she said at all.</p><p>             "<em>Sam is not expendable</em>," she signed again, slowly and clearly, watching as Dean's eyes followed her hand movements with a frown of concentration.</p><p>             After a moment, he blinked, eyes turning soft, as he swallowed thickly, nodding, "No, he's not - he's our brother, and we're going to help his stupid ass, even when he doesn't want us to."</p><p>             That was a sentiment Sandy could get behind, she thought with a firm nod back, untucking herself, as she suggested, "<em>We should probably pray to Castiel . . . right? He's gotta' know a way for us to stop all this craziness without us throwing Sam under the bus like some virgin sacrifice</em>."</p><p>             Thankfully, Bobby translated, as best he could, getting an agreeing sound him Dean, even if he did look sceptical at the same time. Whatever had happened between the time of her meeting Cas and now, was obviously souring Dean's faith in the Angel, at least if his side-comments about Castiel while he was explaining this whole cluster-fuck to her that first night was anything to go by. He didn't go into detail, but Sandy was sure something must have been said between them, because they went from heart-eyes to full-on hostile Angel's are all dicks, even the trench-coat wearing ones. </p><p>             But that was a problem for another day - <em>Sam</em> was their priority right now.</p><p>             "<em>Fuck</em>, yeah, you're probably right," Dean reluctantly agreed, hand coming back up to run one more pass through his short dirty-blonde spinks.</p><p>             Without any more words spoken or signed on the matter, Dean turned and strode from the room, presumedly to do just that. She had half a mind to follow him, but figured he'd no doubt rather she didn't, at least if he was gonna' go beg non-too-helpful Angel-boy for just that, help. Men and their feelings of pride . . . it was a detriment more often than not, Sandy would have thought two against one would have been more effective, especially when she had puppy-dog eyes down to an art form. Hell, the things she could get Adam to agree too . . . he'd been putty in her hands when she turned on her puss-in-boots eyes.</p>
<hr/><p>             <strong>S</strong>andy had managed to stay out of Dean's way for near two whole hours, after that . . . well, let's just say that she reached her limit of passively waiting, since it was clearly not getting them anywhere. Castiel was still a no show and time was a-ticking. So with determination building in her mind, Sandy set out in search for Dean, unable to sit meekly by and watch Bobby pure over all the 'broken seals' research like a crazed man, like it made any difference to them now - what was done is done. </p><p>             She found him out in Bobby's salvage yard, lent against one of the cars, of which resembled more of a twist of warped metal than an actual car, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed - presumedly praying. She'd heard him shouting about an hour back, for a good long while after too, all angry and frustrated, damning Castiel's name in a rather impressive and colourful manner. Clearly, he had given up on that tactic, trying a more subtle approach, though she couldn't be sure he wasn't just shouting at the Angel in his head all the same. </p><p>             Sandy made sure she was noisy as she walked through the yard, figuring that startling a man with a gun at his back would be stupid on all accounts, even if that man was her brother. She'd learned her lesson the first and last time she attempted to wake him up, and ended up looking down the barrel of his gun with wide eyes, which was not an experience she was jumping-at-the-bit to ever repeat again. </p><p>             "What are you doing out here, Sandy?" Dean asked of her, not even bothering to open his eyes, and yet knowing it was her all the same.</p><p>             Probably down to his Hunter-Spidey-senses, she reckoned, which made her wonder if she would ever be that good a weapon one day too if she let them train her. But then she would take a real good look at him or Sam, and her heart would constrict because she knew neither of them had ever chosen this life for themselves, it was chosen for them. And with all those cool ninja-like skills came, haunted eyes and life-long nightmares, all wrapped up in pain and self-loathing. </p><p>             Desperate to help at least one of her brothers, Sandy closed her eyes, as she lent into Dean's side, arms curling around one of his own much larger ones, settling in with her head resting upon his shoulder. And in that silent comfort she gave her brother, Sandy prayed to his Angel, hoping he'd hear her and come lighten the load weighing Dean's shoulders down. </p><p>             <em>Castiel</em>, she started, eyes squeezing tight as she focused everything she had on her mental words,<em> Dean needs you. Please . . . I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can . . . please just come and hear him out. </em></p><p>             For a few long and drawn out minutes, nothing happened, and Sandy almost cursed the Angel for ignoring them in their time of need. He's actions just didn't fit with the curious and heart-eyed Angel she had met not that long ago, who had been clearly enthraled with her eldest brother, to be ignoring him so steadfastly now when he might just need him the most. But before she could give too freely over to hopelessness, the sounds of rustling wings sounded, shattering the silence of the night around them.</p><p>             "Well, it's about time," Dean complained, pushing up from where he lent against the car, prompting Sandy to let him go so he could go face his Angel, "I've been screaming myself hoarse out here for about two and a half hours now."</p><p>             "What do you want?" Castiel questioned curtly in response, face expressionless, and voice hard as he stared Dean down without any sign of the affection she had noted he usually wore in her brother's presence. </p><p>             "You can start with what the hell happened in Illinois," Dean demanded, clearly unnerved by Castiel's coldness as Sandy was, refusing to the brief time the Angel had been separated from his vessel, Jimmy.</p><p>             "What do you mean?"</p><p>             "Cut the crap," Dean snapped, his frustration reaching it's limit, even as his eyes softened to an earnest plead that Sandy was sure Castiel could see just as clearly as she could, "You were gonna tell me something."</p><p>             "Well, nothing of import."</p><p>             "You got ass-reamed in heaven but it was not of import?" Dean countered, eyes hardening once more at Castiel's lock of give.</p><p>             "Dean, I can't. I'm sorry," And for a moment, Sandy thought that he just might be, at least, until added in abrupt impatience, "Get to the reason you really called me. It's about Sam, right?"</p><p>             "Can he do it? Kill Lilith, stop the apocalypse?" She knew Dean had to ask, even if she also knew he'd never sacrifice Sam, not even - she bet - to save the world. Because <em>Sam </em>is Dean's world.</p><p>             "Possibly, yes," Castiel confirmed their fears off-handedly, with a casualness that belied the importance of the conversation and their fears, "But as you know, he'd have to take certain steps."</p><p>             "Crank up the hell-blood regimen," Dean summarised with a clenched jaw and a stubborn look of refusal in his eyes.</p><p>             "Consuming the amount of blood it would take to kill Lilith would change your brother forever," Which didn't sound at all appealing to Sandy, Dean neither, "Most likely, he would become the next creature that you would feel compelled to kill. There's no reason this would have to come to pass, Dean," Castiel's voice finally softened, as he stepped closer to Dean, eyes searching out Dean's imploringly, "We believe it's <em>you</em>, Dean, not your brother. The only question for us is whether you're willing to accept it. Stand up and accept your role. You are the one who will stop it."</p><p>             Sandy didn't like the sound of <em>that</em> any more than she had liked it when it was supposedly Sam chosen to end it all. Nor did she like the way Castiel was trying to coerce her brother into seeing things his way, it felt wrong, she couldn't explain how only knowing that it did. So, it was with fresh fear prickling the hair on her arms to stand on end, that Sandy shuffled up to Dean's side, taking his hand into her own, shaking her head in refusal up at him the moment she had his attention. All in vain, she could tell, it was all their for her to see in his eyes as they come to meet her own; if he had the chance to spare Sam he'd take it. No matter the cost to him. </p><p>             "If I do this," Dean started, turning away from her pleading gaze, giving her a weak comforting squeeze to the hand, the one all but choaking the blood-circulation of his own, "Sammy doesn't have to?"</p><p>             "If it gives you comfort to see it that way," Castiel answered coldly, hands moving to clasp behind his back, eyes unflinching from Dean's own.   </p><p>             "God, you're a dick these days," Dean all but snarled, pain and anguish clear in his voice and actions, as he tore away from her, walking a few steps away to compose himself and his anger. After a moment, Dean turned back to Castiel, with a sigh he agreed, "Fine, I'm in."</p><p>             "You give yourself over wholly to the service of God and his angels?" Castiel demanded, crowding Dean, knowing he was just a hairs breath from getting what he wanted from the man stood tormented before him. </p><p>             "Yeah, exactly," Dean tried to cagily agree without actually agreeing to anything specific. </p><p>            But even still, Sandy couldn't help but feel like she had just watched her brother sell his soul, and to make it worse, Castiel wasn't content with that, no, he would not be deterred by Dean's broad agreement, as he demanded coldly that Dean, "Say it."</p><p>             With another sigh and one last lingering look Sandy's way, looking more pained as he noted the slow rain of tears painting her freckles that she hadn't even noticed until that moment, he finally gave Castiel what he wanted. "I give myself over wholly to serve God and you guys."</p><p>             "You swear to follow his will and his word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father's?" Castiel farther demanded, relentless now that he had gotten Dean right where he wanted him, even daring to bring John into it.</p><p>             "Yes, I swear," Dean snapped, shooting Castiel an almost betrayed look, before asking with a tried sigh, "Now what?"</p><p>             "Now you wait, and we call on you when it's time."</p><p>             And as they stared off at one another, Sandy couldn't help the way that her heart shattered in her chest, seeing them so far from how they had been with each other before. It was such a startling contrast that it made her head spin, and truth be told, she still had no idea what had happened to change their relationship, of what had happened to Castiel during his brief time back in Heaven to turn him so wholly against Dean now, someone he had clearly cared deeply for.</p><p>             "Come on, Sandy," Dean finally broke free from Castiel's unwavering gaze, holding an arm out to her, as he turned his back on the Angel, "Let's try and get some shut-eye."</p><p>             She knew they wouldn't be, or at least, Dean definitely would be, that they were just words used to distance himself from the Angel. But she didn't protest, as he hooked an arm over her shoulders, pulling her in tight to his side. She sunk into him, soaking up his strong presence, desperately seeking any comfort she could get her hands on. </p><p>             She didn't wanna' be that person, the one that turns a bad situation around on themselves in self-pity, but she couldn't help but feel like she was cursed. Something out there just really didn't want her to have a family: first, her dad is taken from her before she could even really get to know him; then her mother and brother; and now Sam and Dean too, at least if the damn powers that be had their way of it. </p><p>             It was all bull-shit, and Sandy was <em>done</em> with it all, she couldn't lose anymore. She just couldn't.</p>
<hr/><p>             <strong>T</strong>he next day came with a sombre tension that could be cut with a knife, especially after Bobby had been informed about what Castiel had had to say in regards to their plight, which would amount to Dean trading places with Sam. It was a loose-loose situation, no matter which way Sandy looked at it, she was going to end up losing both her brothers in the end regardless of who the burden fell on. </p><p>             "Correct me if I'm wrong," Bobby finally spoke up, as Dean finished explaining all that was said the night before in the yard, "But you willingly signed up to be the angels' bitch?"</p><p>             He could have chosen his words more tactfully, Sandy thought with a tired look sent his way, as she watched Dean shoot the older man an unimpressed look of his own that could curl milk. </p><p>             "I'm sorry," Bobby amended, even while not actually look all that sorry, "You prefer 'sucker'? After everything you said about them, <em>now</em> you trust them?"</p><p>             "Come on, give me a little credit, Bobby," Dean scoffed, looking a little offended that Bobby would even ask that, "I've never trusted them less. I mean, they come on like shady politicians from planet Vulcan."</p><p>             Despite the seriousness of the talk, Sandy could hold back an inappropriate little snort of amusement at Dean's words, having never pegged her too-cool-for-school older brother for a Trekkie. </p><p>             "Then why in the hell did you -" Bobby started to question, frown deep in place, only to be cut off by Dean. </p><p>             "Because what other option do I have?" Dean questioned back in frustration, arms coming up to articulate his point farther, "It's either trust the angels or let Sammy trust a demon."</p><p>             Sandy supposed she couldn't argue with his reasoning, even if she was beginning to believe that Angels weren't all that they were cracked up to be, not if they would force Dean's hand like they way Castiel had last night, using Sam as the carrot to lead him their way. </p><p>             "I see your point," Bobby nodded, clearly in agreement, that their options clearly sucked. </p><p>             It was essentially, damn Dean or damn Sam, neither of which were too appealing of options in her opinion. It was then, as the thought of Sam flickered through her mind, that Sandy realised just how quiet the house had gotten all of a sudden, a far cry from the endless screaming they had had to endure all week. </p><p>             Sitting up in her chair abruptly, with building panic pumping through her veins, Sandy frantically knocked on the coffee table to get their attention, startling them both in the process. "<em>It's quiet</em>."</p><p>             "Yeah," Bobby agreed, climbing from his seat slowly, catching onto her worry with some of his own, "That's a little <em>too</em> much quiet for my liking."</p><p>             A heartbeat later, after a shared look of concern between them all, they bolted down to the basement. Dean was first down the stairs, with Bobby hot at his heels, while Sandy lagged behind, sliding across Bobby's hardwood flooring in her socks. By the time she finally made it down the stairs, surprisingly without breaking her neck she might add, Dean already had the heavy door to the panic-room open.</p><p>             She came barreling into the sight of Sam laying on the floor, clearly having a seizure, while Dean and Bobby hesitated cautiously, just shy of entering the room. They even stopped Sandy when she tried to rush past them, with Dean grabbing her with an arm around her waist, pulling her restrictedly back against his chest.</p><p>             She was pretty useless when it came to fighting monsters, she'd be the first to admit, but she'd spent enough of her time in-and-out of hospitals over the years, and listened to her nurse of a mother's teachings, to understand what to do when someone was having a seizure. And standing back, and not doing anything, wasn't it. </p><p>             "What if he's faking?" Dean pointed out, looking conflicted, sharing a look with Bobby over her head, who asked, "You really think he would?"</p><p>             "I think he'd do anything," Dean readily answered, even if it did look to pain him to do so.</p><p>             But before either of them could come to a decision on the matter, Sam was literally picked up and slammed against the wall by an invisible force, startling them all back in surprised horror. Sandy's nails found their way into Dean's arms, the ones still locked about her from behind, not that he seemed to even feel the little pricks of pain, as he looked upon the horror scene Sam made pinned against the wall.</p><p>             "That ain't faking," Bobby decided, as Dean gently pushed Sandy out of the way before he and Bobby charged into the room.</p><p>             They had to struggle to get him down from the wall, with his body fighting them all the way, even as he continued to seize. Sam was a big man and didn't make it an easy task for them, but finally, after several long minutes spent getting packed and kicked with uncontrolled limbs, they got him down and pinned to the single cot in the room.</p><p>             "We're gonna have to tie him down for his own safety," Bobby stated, eyes flicking up to Dean to get his thoughts on the matter, only to take in Dean's stricken look of horror with a concerned look of his own, "Dean? You with me? Dean! Quick, before he has another fit."</p><p>             Finally seeing a way to be helpful, Sandy rushed out of the doorway of the panic-room, looking around for something they could use to tie Sam down with. And disturbingly enough, she didn't have to look far, upon a hook on one of the walls rested several chained cuffs, all leather and looking like something out of some kinky porno, that Sandy would never ever admit to having stumbled across in her curiosity regarding sex one dreaded night a year ago. </p><p>             "Yeah, yeah. Let's just get it over with," Dean breathed out thickly, as Sandy came rushing into the room, weighed down by the heavy-duty chains attached to the cuffs, happily handing them off to Bobby. </p><p>             It hurt her heart to see him like this, they'd come so far from the time when he'd thought to use her as bait, and she honestly felt a little sick just looking at the state of him in that moment. He smells rancid, like aged sweat and sick combined, which wasn't surprising given he had been locked in a room without running water, even if he had had the sense of mind to used said water. His long brown hair was all most black with grease and sweat, sticking up at all angles, and matted in parts. </p><p>             With a trembling bottom lip, Sandy moved to sit on the floor by his head, bringing her shaking hands up to comb through his hair, even as he unconsciously fought her gentle touch with every pass in his seized state. But the repetitive motion of her hands, undeterred by his thrash, must have lulled him at least a little since his jerks slowed to an unnervingly abrupt stop soon after. </p><p>             "I'm gonna ask one more time," Bobby was the first to break the tension-filled silence of the room, "Are we absolutely sure we're doing the right thing?"</p><p>             "Bobby, you saw what was happening to him down here just well as I did," Dean argued, hand coming up to cover his mouth as he shook his head, sad eyes locked upon Sam's thankfully unconscious form, "The demon blood is killing him."</p><p>             "No, it isn't," Bobby rebuffed gruffly, shocking both Sandy and Dean with his firmness on the matter, "<em>We</em> are."</p><p>             "What?" Dean voiced Sandy's response in tandem with her thoughts, as she blinked up at the bearded man with her mouth agape in confused outrage.</p><p>             They had done nothing but try and keep their brother alive, to keep him fed and hydrated, even when he fought them every step of the way. And Sandy had done more research upon aiding drug-addicts on the computer than she ever thought that she would have to, desperate to aid Sam in any way that she could, and just short of sending him to rehab or a hospital this was the best thing for him given the situation and their limited options at hand.</p><p>             "I'm sorry. I can't bite my tongue any longer," Bobby shrugged his shoulders, holding his hands out in defence to his point, as he met Dean's disbelieving eyes head-on, "We're killing him. Keeping him locked up down there. This cold-turkey thing isn't working. If - if he doesn't get what he needs, soon, Sam's not gonna last much longer."</p><p>             "<em>No</em>," Sandy signed firmly shaking her head in refusal, all but ignored as Dean faced off against Bobby, in steadfast agreement with her, much to her relief. </p><p>             "No. I'm not giving him demon blood. I <em>won't</em> do it."</p><p>             "And if he dies?" Bobby dared to ask, voice pained and eyes brimming, as he blinked his anguish stubbornly away.</p><p>             "Then at least he dies human!" Dean shouted, right as Sandy started to sob softly, pressing her face into Sam's hair in search of comfort. "I would die for him in a second, but I won't let him do this to himself. I <em>can't</em>. I guess I found my line. I won't let my brother turn into a monster."</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. CH09, Dead Girl #1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p><strong>               S</strong>andy hadn't been able to sleep, no matter how much she desperately tried to, while laying there, staring up at the peeling paint of the ceiling above her bed. But her mind was stuck relentlessly replaying the interaction she and Dean had shared with Castiel just hours before, over and over again in her minds-eye, haunting her with foreboding subtext the Angel had layered in the vow he dragged from her brother.</p><p>               She just couldn't seem to get past just how fragile her world seemed of late, what with one brother all-but taken over by his supernatural addiction, while the other effectively sold his soul to a bunch of dicks with wings, to borrow Dean's oh-so eloquent moniker for Angels. Which was why, with a tired huff, Sandy found herself sitting up, causing her beloved quilt to pool down around her hips, as she all but flung her legs over the side of the bed.</p><p>               Sleep would not be coming for her anytime soon.</p><p>               It was cold outside the warm embrace of her blankets, especially since she had chosen to go to bed in flimsy PJ short-shorts and a cami top, leaving more bare skin exposed to the frosty chill of the night than she cared currently for. Springing from the bed with a gasp, Sandy tip-toed her way over to her wardrobe, not particularly because she was concerned about waking anyone, but because the floor was simply too cold to bare laying her feet flat against it. </p><p>               Picking the fluffiest socks, a pair of glorious lime-yellow and blue striped monstrosities, from the wicker basket that resided at the base of her wardrobe, Sandy jerked them eagerly onto her feet. Pulling them up to rest mid-calf with a relieved sign, before grabbing the ugg-boot-looking fuzzy white slippers and pulling them on too, thankful that Bobby had insisted that she needed at least one pair of slippers to her name. A plain black hoody came next, near three sizes too large and made for a man, it swamped her like an ill-fitting dress. It came to rest well past where her shorts ended, down to her knees almost, all but drowning her in the soft material - not particularly flattering, to be sure, but it was exactly how she liked her jumpers best. </p><p>               Prepared enough to now face the cold that awaited her outside of her small room, Sandy opened the creaky door to it as slowly and as quietly as she could, continuing with her tip-toeing out and down the long hallway. She knew it was silly, but she just had a bad feeling was all, and knew she'd be getting no sleep tonight if she didn't go check on the men in her life first. Call her paranoid, but the last time she ignored her gut her mom got eaten by Ghouls, so she was all for airing on the side of caution now.</p><p>               She passed Bobby's open bedroom door with a frown, wondering if he had gotten into his bottles again and fallen asleep at his desk, which was not good for a man his age at all, not that he paid her concern any heed - stubborn men and their foolish pride. She'd taken to hiding as many of his bottles of the amber liquid as she could, not too many that he'd take notice, of course, but enough to put a frustrating halt on his daily intake. </p><p>               Moving past his empty room, Sandy went in search of her eldest brother, knowing already without even having to open the door to the room he used for his own that Dean wouldn't be in there, he never was. The sofa in the living room was where he made his bed more often than not, at least when he actually managed to get some shut-eye, that is, all to make sure that he was never too far from Sam should their brother have need of him. </p><p>               So when she finally made it down the creaky stairs, she wasn't all that surprised to find Dean sprawled out on the red sofa, looking cramped and anything but restful, but thankfully asleep. She didn't even see any signs he had been drinking before bed either, no littered beer bottles around him, so she allowed herself a small sigh of relief, before moving onto Bobby's study. Careful with her steps, her big brother was a certified ninja, even the littlest of sounds could wake him, and every time he woke it was swinging or with a loaded gun in hand. Which was not a fun experience, she had learnt early on, especially when you had no voice to placate him from his post-sleep-haze that he was under no actual threat. </p><p>               What was a surprise though, however, something that had Sandy coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway of the study, was the lack of human presence in it - no Bobby. He hadn't fallen asleep in here, nor his room, which left her stumped as to where on earth the man had gotten to, especially since with Dean on the sofa there was no other place she could see the man bedding down for the night. Cutting through the study, Sandy made to search the kitchen, to see if maybe he was in there manning one of those questionable phones of his - he wasn't.</p><p>               But she did notice something else, the backdoor was unlocked, and given the late hour, it was something that simply didn't happen. Bobby was a stickler for checking that all doors were locked of a night time, not a man to take the safety of those staying under his roof lightly, so the fact that it was unlocked now and Bobby was nowhere in sight concerned Sandy greatly.</p><p>               Even still, she hesitated with the thought of waking Dean up to go check on Bobby, wherever he may be, especially when she knew sleep did not come easily for her brother. So with a resigned sigh, Sandy looked around the kitchen for something she could use as an improvised weapon to aid her in her self-appointed quest. There was, of course, several actual weapons just casually laying around, but given that they were mostly all guns, Sandy didn't even give them a lingering glance. She had never held a gun in her life, the last thing she wanted was to accidentally shoot Bobby in the dark, thinking him some kind of demon because she let her fear get the best of her. </p><p>               So instead, Sandy settled for an iron frying pan off of the drainer, holding it akin to the way a baseball-bat is held. She had to pull her ridiculously long sleeves back over her hands in order to get a good grip upon the wooden handle, as she shouldered her way out of the back door, wishing that Bobby would consider putting more lights out in the yard in the future. Now, Sandy wasn't by any means scared of the dark, but given all that she knew now lurked in it, she figured that a few more well-placed lights wouldn't go a miss.</p><p>               It was eerie, though, she couldn't deny, the scrapyard at night. There were pitch-black shadows everywhere she looked, created from what little light the yard actual had, playing tricks on her already paranoid mind as it was. She couldn't help but have a sudden understanding of what that 'Dead Girl #1' in all the horror movies felt like, with her make-shift weapon in hand, quite literally walking into her own potential death. Yep, any minute now, some psychopath was gonna' come running out, wearing one of those creepy-ass Scream masks, wielding a big-ass knife in her face. </p><p>               So consumed with her growing self-indulgent fear, Sandy nearly missed Bobby altogether, sprawled out like a star-fish upon the gravel out in the open of the front yard, not moving. With a horrified gasp of surprise, Sandy rushed to him, scrapping up her bare knees upon the gravel as she skidded to the ground at his side. </p><p>               Dropping the frying pan in favour of frantically bringing her shaking hands up to his chest and neck, checking that he was still thankfully alive, Sandy nearly sobbed out her sheer relief. Head dropping to rest against his chest with a soft thump, Sandy tried to steady her erratic breathing, to chase away the sudden and full-body fear that had black spots dancing at the edges of her vision. She would be no use to Bobby if she passed out now, so with that in mind and a deep breath to centre herself, Sandy shakily climbed to her feet, sparing Bobby one last look of concern before she took off running back the way she came.</p><p>               Distantly, she was aware that her knees hurt her something fierce, could even feel the warmth that bloomed there, trickling down her shins in hot lines of wetness. But all of that was secondary to her sheer need to get help for Bobby, all but slamming her way into the house, hitting the backdoor so hard against the kitchen wall that the whole house seemed to shake from it. So it was no surprise really, that Dean was already sitting up, gun in hand and eyes wide with alarm, when she came skidding into the livingroom.</p><p>               He took one look at her tear-streaked face, flooded with fear and worry, then moved down to her bloody knees, before he was up and in hunter-mode. "What's wrong, what happened?" He demanded, crossing to her in three brisk steps, bringing the hand not curled about his gun up to curl about her shoulder in a gentle grasp, "Sandy, what's wrong?"</p><p>               "<em>Bobby</em>," She signed frantically, before grabbing ahold of the wrist attached to the hand upon her shoulder, tugging him to follow her, as she rushed back out the way she came in. </p><p>               He followed her without question, gun up and at the ready, as she led him around the outside of the house to the front yard, where Bobby lay. He picked up his pace once he realised who the sprawled body belonged to, outrunning her to his side, where he then dropped to his knees, checking for a pulse just as she had. </p><p>               Finding one, with on a shakey release of air, Dean gently slapped a hand against Bobby's cheek a few time, "Hey, Bobby? Bobby! Come one, man, get your old ass up," while Sandy took to her knees at Bobby's other side. </p><p>               With a groan, Bobby's eyes blinked open, focusing on Dean with a weak glare, "Who you calling 'old man', boy?"</p><p>               With a relieved huff of begrudging amusement, Dean pulled the other man up into a sitting position, patting him on the back. Sandy was less 'manly' in her expression of her own relief, as she shot forward, all but knocking Bobby back down into the gravel, with her arms wrapped about his shoulders. With a surprised huff of air, he froze for a few seconds, before his arms came up and around her to return her embrace just as fiercely. </p><p>               "Alright now, sweetheart; I'm okay," he reassured, as he pulled back, but thankfully not pushing her away completely. </p><p>               "What the hell happened, Bobby?" Dean demanded to know, as he tucked his gun into the waistband of the back of his jean, clearly reading Bobby's lack of concern that whoever attacked him was still hanging around. </p><p>               "Sam," was all Bobby said at first, getting twin frowns from her and Dean, the latter of whom immediately asked in response, "Sam? He's locked in the panic-room, Bobby."</p><p>               "He ain't anymore," Bobby shrugged, bringing a hand up to rub at the already forming bruise on his forehead, "He got out somehow, knocked my ass out when I tried to stop him, then took my dang car and high-tailed it out of here while I was taking my dirt nap."</p><p>               "Fuck," Dean muttered, with a tired sigh of frustration escaping him, as he brought a hand up to run up over his head, down the back, and around the front to rest upon his mouth, before pushing to his feet. "Come on, let's get you up."</p><p>               With another groan, Sandy and Dean helped Bobby to his feet, who refused any help after, even as he let out a pained hiss as he bent to collect his discarded shotgun in hand. Doing the same with her frying pan, of which got her an arched brow from Dean, to which Sandy just shrugged her shoulders almost as if to say 'yeah, its a damn pan, what of it', which only got a chuckle from her brother in response. </p><p>               "We really need to teach you how to shoot a gun, sweetheart," Dean smiled at her weakly, as he led them back to the house, having to go all the way around to the backdoor again since the front was still most likely locked. </p><p>               Dean didn't stop when then entered the house, instead, he led them down into the basement, having to see Sam's empty cell for himself, no doubt. And there it was, with the heavy iron door unlocked and swung wide open, given them a clear view into the now empty panic-room.  </p><p>               "How the hell did he get out?" Dean asked in exasperation, hands coming up to rest upon his hips, as he glared at the open door as if it had personally offended him. </p><p>               "Maybe he had help," Bobby suggested, as he looked around the basement and the mess that was made of his ward-work painted on the walls, "Room full of busted devil's traps."</p><p>               "<em>Demons</em>?" Sandy signed, hands shaking with fear at the mere idea of a demon swanning around down below them as they had slept unawares upstairs. And since it was the Devil Traps that had bit the dust, it just stood to reason it was a demon, right? But that did pose the question of how the demons even knew to look here for Sam at all.</p><p>               "Ruby," Dean growled, jaw pulsing, as he ran a hand over his now bowed head.</p><p>               "That'd be my guess," Bobby agreed.</p><p>               "<em>How would she have even touched the door</em>?" Sandy signed in question, eyeing the thick iron in question and all the welded-in wards Bobby had painstakingly carved into it. </p><p>               "You think she's got the mojo?" Bobby asked Dean, clearly understanding why she felt the need to ask what she did; because simply put, no demon should have been able to even touch the door, let alone actually open it. </p><p>               "I didn't think so," Dean shrugged with a tired sigh, head coming back up, "I don't know, man."</p><p>               "What difference does it make?" Bobby finally decided, letting out a long exasperated sigh of his own, "How he got gone ain't as important as where he got gone to."</p><p>               To wherever this mystery Ruby was, Sandy would wager a bet, especially if she went to all this trouble to bust him out. </p><p>               "Well, I'll tell you one thing," Dean stated, as he turned his back on the panic-room, marching his way back over to the stairs, "At this point, I <em>hope</em> he's with Ruby."</p><p>               "Why?" Bobby asked exactly what Sandy herself was wondering. </p><p>               "'Cause killing her's the next big item on my to-do list," Dean stated plainly, like he wasn't just mentally planning someone's murder, voice bleeding with just how serious he was about it too.</p><p>               It should frighten her, just violent her brothers could be, they were proven killers, after all. And yet, she wasn't as frightened of them as she knew she should be or had been upon first meeting them, they didn't kill without reason and just cause. And from all that she had read on the matter, demons were bad from all angles, and if one of them had gotten her vicious claws into Sam then . . . well, in the wise words of her big brother, it was just cause to 'gank the bitch'.</p><p>               "I thought you were on call for angel duty," Bobby reminded, as he followed Dean up the stairs, with Sandy hot on his heels, frying pan still in clutched hand. </p><p>               "I <em>am</em> on call," Dean reasoned, as he headed straight for his duffle bag resting on the floor beside the sofa he had fallen asleep on, unzipping it in one smooth jerk of his wrist, "In my car, on my way to murder the bitch."</p><p>               "One thing," Bobby pointed out, as he watched Dean pull out the demon-killing knife, getting an off-handed "What?" from Dean, before Bobby added, "Sam don't wanna be found, which means he's gonna be damn near impossible to find."</p><p>               "Yeah, we'll see," Dean snorted, zipping his bag back closed, looking the very image of confident fury all wrapped up in human flesh. </p><p>               "<em>Dean, just wait until we know more</em>," Sandy suggested, hands signing slowly for him, as she tossed her frying pan on the sofa, before stepping into his way, stopping him before he could even try heading for the front door, "<em>You hunt people for a living, Dean, tracking them first before you go rushing in blindly, right? So treat this situation the same way, you know Sam better than anyone, you'll be able to find him if you think smart</em>."</p><p>               "The girl's not wrong, boy," Bobby stated, stepping up to her side in a show of support, "At least let me track my car, figure out where he was heading with it before he no doubt ditched it, you aren't gonna' be getting anywhere half-cocked."</p><p>               "Fine, but as soon as we have a lead I'm chasing him down, Bobby," Dean warned, "And dragging his junky-ass home, even if I have to lock him in my damn trunk to do it."</p>
<hr/><p>               <strong>U</strong>nsurprisingly, no one got any more sleep that night, so when moring light finally did pierce threw the open blinds of the living-room windows, Sandy couldn't help flinching away from the light like a damn fictional vampire, all but hissing. Her head was pounding and her eyes were swollen from tiredness and the brief crying spell she had done over Bobby's slumped form. </p><p>               Dean looked no better than her, despite getting a few more hours rest than she had managed to get, even still, it didn't stop him from getting gone before lunchtime had even rolled around. Following a lead that Bobby had found, the trail of stolen and abandoned cars Sam had left in his wake, one of which was his own. Dean didn't bother with goodbyes, of which Sandy was actually thankful for, instead, he stopped briefly as he made to pass her by, placing a chasted but pressured kiss to the top of her blonde crown. </p><p>               She hated watching him go, knowing that's she was helpless to aid him in any way, she was just a kid, after all, and not even a trained one like he had been. It made her wonder though, if one day, she'd be going with him, and Sam, off to hunt some other ass-hole demon hell bend on manipulating some other poor sod into coughing up his soul. That 'one day' wouldn't be anytime soon, she acknowledged, since a frying pan was her best idea of a weapon presently, she could just imagine the fear she'd invoke in the hearts of monsters with it in hand. Pathetic, really, but since it's not like she knew how to shoot a gun it'll have to do for now.</p><p>               <em>Or would it</em> . . . she mused, as she settled her sharp green gaze upon Bobby, as he sat at his desk across the room from her, face all but kissing the pages of the dusty old book open before him. </p><p>               If last night had put anything in perspective for Sandy it was that she couldn't remain with her brothers if she didn't at least know how to hold a gun. She was just putting herself at risk and them too, because god forbid that they ever got into trouble and she was their last defence, they'd all be royally fucked and most likely dead at the end of it. She still wasn't sure about letting them train her to be a hunter, it was a big commitment and not a decision she wanted to make lightly, especially not in the heat of the moment out of fear. But being able to at least mount some defence wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, she decided, not if it could one day keep her brothers safe too.</p><p>               She couldn't help but think . . . had she known what she did now <em>before</em> . . . just maybe she could have saved her mom and Adam. And here she sat, with the perfect opportunity to make sure that she was never caught unawares like that ever again, and yet, she was hesitating out of some sense of misguided right and wrong, of which no longer applied to the shadow world of monsters that she now found herself living in. </p><p>               Sliding her booted feet off of the large tomes stacked before her, Sandy put the occult book on demons she had been reading all afternoon aside, as she sat up from her slouched position in the armchair in Bobby's study. Leaning forward, she knocked her knuckles on the stack of books, getting Bobby's attention with a startled blink. </p><p>               "<em>I want you to teach me to shoot a gun</em>," she signed, shoulders squaring with determination, even as one of her bandaged knees bounced with nervousness. </p><p>               She had scrapped them both up pretty badly last night and elected to forgo wearing her usual tight jeans because of it, contenting herself with comfortable black leggings, half-hidden under a plain white-tee and a stolen plaid over-shirt of Sam's. It was ridiculously large on her, and she delighted in being smothered under all the extra material, comforted by the slight lingering scent of Sam's deeply embedded, even despite it being a freshly washed shirt. </p><p>               "What . . . <em>now</em>?" Bobby exclaimed in surprise, blinking over at her like he thought she was crazy, they certainly had more important things to be doing, for sure.</p><p>               But given all the signs of broken Seals that he found they could do nothing about or the fact that until the Angels call, and until Sam was found, all that they were really doing was biding time - this was the best time to show her some of the ropes, as it were. So with that in mind, Sandy pushed herself to her feet, staring him down until he let out an exasperated sigh, pulling himself up to his own feet. </p><p>               "Alright, alright," he finally agreed.</p><p>               And from there, spawned a <em>long</em> day of Sandy shooting everything in Bobby's yard <em>but</em> the evenly placed bottle targets that he had laid out - clearly, a natural she was not. But she was giving herself points for effort and determination, even despite Bobby's grumbling about just how inept she was proving to be. </p><p>               Damn her mom for raising her with books instead of video-games, maybe if she'd just had one round on a first-person shooting game then this wouldn't seem so alien to her now. But no, she had to let Sandy bury herself in her books, prompting her to run around wielding a fake Harry Potter Wand instead of a toy gun; curse her dorky ways! </p><p>               She'd always dreamed of being a witch, and had even dared to be disappointed when her Hogwarts letter failed to arrive, because really, who wouldn't wanna' be Hermione Granger? She was a boss, and Harry would have been done for in book one without her brains, and every book after, really. So, to learn now that witches were real and some of the biggest dick-bags in assistance, well, it was more than a little disappointing, to say the least.</p><p>               So here she was, turning in her LED-tip wand for a shiny black gun, ready to kick-ass and take names . . . eventually . . . <em>maybe</em>. But first, she needed to actually hit at least one targets, or she feared Bobby might actually cry, the poor man was so distressed by her lack of take to weaponry. It was a lot easier in the movies though, and Sandy found herself spending most of her concentration of simply keeping her eyes from close every time she pulled the trigger, which in turn thoroughly threw off her aim. </p><p>               "Dear God, girl," Bobby exclaimed tiredly, several hours later after she had indeed managed to hit one target, <em>finally</em>, "I ain't ever seen someone so inept with a dang gun in all my life!"</p><p>               With a snort, Sandy couldn't even find it in her heart to be offended, she was genuinely terrible, there was no denying that simple fact. But at least she now knew that her weapon of choice wouldn't be a gun, not unless she aimed to shoot everything but what she actually wanted to take down, that is. </p><p>               Clearly, the famous Winchester hunting abilities weren't an inherited trait, but learned skill instead, which was fine, it would just mean Sandy had a lot of work ahead of her to be better, is all. And she was nothing if not stubborn, a personality trait she had come to learn <em>had</em> been inherited, at least if her pig-headed brothers were anything to go by. </p><p>               She just needed to find another way to be helpful, that was all, one that didn't involve her dangerous ass wielding a damn gun, because she honestly didn't think Bobby's poor heart could take another gun lesson with her. It's not like she had <em>meant</em> to shoot at him, but the damn thing had a hair-trigger, and he had had the misfortune of being too near the targets he was re-setting while she practised her aim. Though to be fair, she hadn't <em>actually</em> hit him, and it had been the closest she'd come to hitting a target all day.</p><p>               Honestly, the fact that he could even move that fast for a man his age was quite impressive, any slower and her bullet would have been embedded in his ass and not the car bonnet than the targets rested upon. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so I had planned on having the gun lessons written out as part of the chapter, but then I realised I know literally nothing about guns. What can I say, I'm English and we don't really have any guns here, at least not if you aren't specialised police, a soldier, or a farmer. So I tried to research the mechanics of it, but honestly, I just still wasn't getting it enough to feel comfortable writing it. So I chose to edge around it without actually putting it into words instead, keeping it vague, so I didn't trip myself up with shit I know nothing about lol. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. CH10, Mission Impossible</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mate . . . this chapter was a genuine struggle! I had it completed and was literally about to hit 'Post', and then my damn internet crash before I had a chance to, meaning I lost the whole damn chapter! I was understandably distraught, to say the least, so I do apologize if this chapter isn't up to snuff, I was writing it through my tears of frustration lol. x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Lucifer Rising, S04E22</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>               <strong>W</strong>aking up to find Dean returned and sitting with Bobby in his study the next morning was more than a little surprising for Sandy, especially since there seemed to be no Sam insight, and Dean seemed to be in an even worst mood than he had been the morning previous. She wasn't sure if she should even dare to question the Sam-shaped-elephant in the room, no matter how desperate she was to do just that, especially if Dean's brooding face reflecting in the glass of the window he faced with his back to them was anything to go by.</p><p>               All he <em>had</em> said on the matter, was that Sam was with Ruby, the demon bitch from Hell that had supposedly freed him, as well as that he had 'chosen his side' and it was theirs. Whatever the hell <em>that</em> was supposed to mean. Though personally, Sandy didn't think that any decision Sam made in his condition should be taken to heart, he was drowning in demon-blood, of which was clearly effecting his decision-making abilities. Another attempt at detoxing him was definitely in order - ASAP - only this time with round-the-clock babysitting, she reckoned, preferably with enough holy water at hand to choke any demon that came looking for him. </p><p>               "Dean? <em>Dean!</em>" Bobby resorted to shouting to get her seemingly distracted brother's attention, getting a startled flinch from Sandy if not Dean, who just contained to stand as still as a damn greek statue, completely unfazed by the sudden rise of sound, "You listen to a word I said?"</p><p>               "Yeah, I heard you," Dean confirmed glibly, not even bothering to turn around and face the man, as he point-blank refused Bobby's instant pushing for what had to be the hundredth time that morning, "I'm not calling him."</p><p>               "Don't make me get my gun, boy," Bobby warned, having reached his wits-end, clearly, beyond done with Dean's steadfast stubbornness. </p><p>               Finally turning to face them, Dean asked waspishly of Bobby, as he repeated Bobby's own argument from before back at him, "We are damn near kickoff for Armageddon, don't you think we got bigger fish at the moment?"</p><p>               "I know you're pissed," Bobby tried to placate, hands coming up before him in the universal hand motion for 'calm your dang tits down, boy!', as he tried to play devil's advocate to Sam's recent and unquestionably questionable life choices, "And I'm not making apologies for what he's done, but he's your -"</p><p>               "<em>Blood</em>? He's my blood, is that what you were gonna say?" Dean asked mockingly, before he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.</p><p>               "He's your <em>brother</em>," Bobby growled in frustration, with what little patience the man to his name soundly leaving him in the wake of Dean's admittedly disrespectful attitude, "And he's drowning."</p><p>               "Bobby, I tried to help him, I really did," Dean insisted earnestly, eyes showing just how deeply Sam's actions were cutting him up inside, as he motioned to the purple knot standing out on Bobby's own forehead for example, "<em>Look</em> what happened."</p><p>               Snaping her fingers to draw Dean's eyes to her, hoping that maybe she could get him to see reason before Bobby called it quiets, she signed out, "So try again."</p><p>               She knew it had to be Dean, he was the <em>only</em> one who could help Sam at this point, if only because he and Sam had an emotional connection that boarded on unhealthy. A codependency that she was only just starting to learn and fear because the scary truth of it was, neither them - simply put - could live without the other. And since Sandy had invested what little she had of her life in them, along with the growing love she had blooming her chest, she now couldn't bear the thought of possibly losing either of them to their own self-sabotaging ways. So, the only options she had to counteract them and their self-sacrificing decisions, was to make it her mission in life to mediate their prickly personalities as best she could, to be the glue that kept them together through the hard times that they insisted on diving headfirst into.</p><p>               "It's too late," Dean rebuffed gently, looking away, crossing his arms dejectedly across his broad chest, as he leant back against the window ledge behind him. </p><p>               "There's no such thing," Bobby assured gently, a soft tone of which only seemed to insight Dean's ire.</p><p>               "No, damn it!" He shouted out in pure frustrated anguish, a hurt that was weakly masked only by his sudden and visceral anger. "No. I gotta face the facts. Sam never wanted part of this family. He <em>hated</em> this life growing up. Ran away to Stanford first chance he got. Now it's like déjà vu all over again." And with that finally off his chest, he crossed the room, dropping like a stone onto the armchairs parallel to her own, adding a softly spoken, "Well, I am sick and tired of chasing him. <em>Screw</em> him, he can do what he wants."</p><p>               "You don't mean that," Bobby argued gently, refusing to believe it just as Sandy didn't, if only because his words went against every protective instinct in Dean Winchester's overprotective sense of self, especially in regards to Sam.</p><p>               He'd spent his whole life looking out for Sam, raising him in the stead of their father, making sure he at least had some semblance of a childhood, even if his own had been brutally robbed from him. He was both a brother and a parent to Sam, the one who made sure he was fed and always had clean clothes to wear, or at least, that was the way of it from what little she had managed to glean from Bobby's tellings. </p><p>               Now, she wasn't in any way trying to say that John did not love his boys, and even her too to some lesser degree, but there was no denying that he had loved Mary more. Sure, he'd given his life and soul up for Dean, and Sandy would never not be unwaveringly grateful to him because of it, because Dean had become so dear to her heart. But his unrelenting need to avenge Mary had consumed him wholly, leaving his sons, mere <em>boys</em> at the time, to fend for themselves more often than not, while spending the times that he was with them raising them up like little soldiers to aid in his mission. </p><p>               And while she knew that they'd deny it, especially Dean, Sandy firmly believed that John's neglect of them boarded precariously into full-on child abuse. He may ever have hurt them physically, but the mental scarring he left behind was more than enough proof to the fact that he had no business raising her brothers, at least not as the shell of a man he was left to be in the wake of their mother's death.</p><p>               "Yes, I do, Bobby," Dean insisted, turning his face away from them, lest they see the lie of his words in those expressive eyes of his, "Sam's gone. He's gone. I'm not even sure if he's still my brother anymore. If he ever was."</p><p>               Taking a moment to silently fume, as his anger built to a dangerous high, Bobby leant on the desk before him until he could hold his rage back no more. In a big angry sweep of his hands, Bobby cleared his desk, tossing books and papers to the ground, before he shot to his feet. He advanced on Dean, who stood to meet his threat head-on, while Sandy shot up from her own seat nervously, afraid that they just might come to actual blows.</p><p>               "You stupid, stupid son of a bitch!" Bobby yelled in Dean's face, spital flying, as he waved a dismissive hand between them, "Well, boo hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good?! Bake you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!"</p><p>               Sandy couldn't say that she agreed with his assessment of what a 'family' was supposed to be; hell, she didn't really believe that any of them actually <em>knew</em> what a family was supposed to be like, what with all the less than stellar examples they've had so far in their lives. And that simple truth pained Sandy's heart greatly, they deserved better, and she couldn't help but resent John for stealing that unconditional love and affection that comes with family from them.</p><p>               He'd turned them into soldiers, brothers in arms, so full of self-doubt and loathing, that they couldn't even trust themselves let alone each other. Sandy hated him for it, how could she not, when she was now forced to watch her brothers fight a war they had inherited from him. It wasn't right. </p><p>               "I told him, 'you walk out that door, don't come back' and he <em>walked</em> out anyway!" Dean yelled back, though his raised voice seemed to be prompted more by his hurt over Sam's actions than it seemed to stem from Bobby's hostile words, "That was his choice!"</p><p>               "You sound like a whiny brat," Bobby scoffed, turning his back on Dean with another dismissive wave of his hand, as he crossed back to his desk, reclaiming his seat with an exasperated sigh, "No, you sound like your dad. Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward."</p><p>               A sentiment Sandy wholeheartedly agreed with. Any idiot could pick up a gun and wage a one-man war if they were so desired to, whether that fool-hearted endeavour was successful or not, but to be a good father . . . now <em>that</em> took an act of courage that John Winchester simply did not possess, not on his own anyway, he'd ran from that task with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. </p><p>               "My dad was a lot of things, Bobby," Dean glared, clearly not in agreement with them, chin jutting out defensively as he demanded, "But a <em>coward</em>?"</p><p>               "He'd rather push Sam away than reach out to him," Bobby defended his statement, uncowed by Dean's clear anger, even as his tired eyes grew sad and just shy of pitying as they locked upon Dean, "Well, that don't strike me as brave. You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So you do both of us a favour. Don't be him."</p><p>               Whether be it because he had no more energy left to fight with, or simply because he had no real counter-argument to make in John's defence, Dean turned away from them once again, back to facing the window. He rested with his hands spread out on either end of the ledge to balance him, as he leant forward far enough that his forehead almost kissed the glass, shoulders tense and jaw clenched so tight Sandy feared his sharp jawline might just give under the sheer strain with which he held it.</p><p>               It was in that moment that it happened, there one minute and just . . . <em>gone</em> the very next, Dean disappeared right before their eyes. Sandy, eyes wide with alarm, scrambled to her feet, damn near falling ass-over-tea-cup as her legs collided with a stack of books by her feet in her haste. Bobby too shot to his feet, an expression of shock painting the weathered lines upon his face, before it gave way to an angry knowing look, of which didn't put Sandy even the slight bit at ease. </p><p>               "Damn Angels!"</p>
<hr/><p>               <strong>S</strong>ometime later, after overcoming her initial freakout with the fact that demons had kidnapped one brother, while Angels had done the same with the other one, Sandy found herself sat upon the hood of a beat-up jeep in the scrapyard. Tired eyes closed in concentration, she prayed in an endless stream to Castiel, even despite how well that had <em>not</em>-gone the last time she tried it. All in vain it would seem, since she'd been at it for hours - all day in fact - and not even so much as a whisper of feathers had sounded in reward for her relentless efforts. </p><p>               And given by the darkening of the sky above her, Sandy knew that she couldn't stay out here for very much longer, even if she had wanted to, Bobby would surely come looking for soon, and drag her ass back to the house kicking and screaming if she dared to give him cause to. Bless him, he'd given her all day to herself upon her request, other than calling her in for supper, he had left her be, even when he thought her praying was a waste of time. Which he had been right about, clearly, but even still, Sandy had needed to at least <em>feel</em> like she was doing something useful. </p><p>               Pushing herself down off of the edge of the jeep's hood, Sandy had it in mind to head back to the house before Bobby could come looking, a failed endeavour she realised promptly, as she spotted his familiar form growing clearer and clearer still off in the distance of the yard. She was just about to call out to him, to let him know where she was, but hesitated, as he froze right where he stood in the middle of the far end of the yard.</p><p>               She recognised the moment his internal switch was flipped into 'Hunter-Mode', just like with Dean and Sam, and despite his lack of a weapon, Bobby looked ready to fight whatever he could sense stalking him in the dark. Far from a fool, Sandy ducked down behind the jeep she had been perched upon all day, laying flat on her belly, so she could still keep a scared eye firmly fixed upon Bobby.</p><p>               Not a second too soon either, for barely a moment later three distinctively human forms broke off from the shadows around the yard, crowding around Bobby, leaving him firmly trapped between them all. Two men and a woman, the latter of which looked to be doing all the talking, while the two men each grabbed at Bobby's arms, holding him in place. With a trembling hand covering her mouth, less her now harsh breathing draw their attention her way, Sandy watched the scene play out with horrified and painfully wide eyes.</p><p>               Of course, she'd love nothing more than to be able to help him, but she was realistic in her abilities or lack thereof, so she knew she'd be more of a hindrance to him than actual help. But that didn't stop her heart from constricting painfully, as fearful tears trickled off of her cheeks, dripping in a warm rainfall of salt upon the gravel her face was almost flush against.</p><p>               And if the thick black cloud of smoke now invading Bobby's lungs was anything to go by, the three attackers were demons, meaning it was truly a good thing she had ducked down in time, she'd have stood no snow-balls chance in all of Hell in taking even one of them on, let alone three. </p><p>               Unable to hear a damn thing from her position, she had no idea what was going on past what she could see or why they had sort Bobby out in particular, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that it probably had something to do with her trouble-magnet brothers. Meaning she couldn't just sit back and do nothing, she had to save Bobby, and hopefully not die a truly painful death in the process.</p><p>               Seeing her chance to act when the two demons left standing, one man and the woman, both of whom were not currently occupying Bobby, stepped casually over the dead meat-suit, as they made to leave Demon-Bobby behind, Sandy crawled up to her battered knees. Mindful to keep her distance, Sandy snuck along behind Demon-Bobby, using her small stature to bob and weave her way along the make-shift walls made of cars to follow along in his wake. </p><p>               He headed for the house, and for a heart-stopping minute, Sandy feared he might have been looking for her, but he didn't detour or even so much as call out her name as he headed straight for Bobby's study. Making her wonder if the demons had even known she was there at all, to begin with, or maybe they just rightly didn't consider a viable threat to them. But as she snuck her way into the living room next door to the study, ducking down behind one of Bobby's ridiculously comfortable armchairs, watching Demon-Bobby tear the study apart before he found Bobby's mobile phone, she couldn't help but reckon that it was the former of those two possibilities - they didn't know about her.</p><p>               Thank fuck for small blessings, because Sandy was not at all equipt to be running blindly in the dark from demons! </p><p>               "Dean!" She heard Demon-Bobby exclaimed in fake relief, "Damn, it's good to hear your voice, boy."</p><p>               Sandy's whole body tensed at the sound of her brother's name, stuck somewhere between both relieved that Dean was clearly safe and well enough to answer a call, and scared shitless because now she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the demons wanted the complete set of Winchester Brothers - damn greedy bastards!</p><p>               "Yeah, I got some research on Micheal," Demon-Bobby answered Dean's question, of which she frustratingly couldn't hear, "Started looking into all the big-hitter Angels when your feathered friend made his first appearance."</p><p>               Michael . . . did he mean <em>the</em> Michael, as in, Archangel Michael, the supposed leader of the army of God against the forces of evil? <em>That</em> Michael?</p><p>               Sandy had to steady herself with a palm laid flat against the cold hardwood flooring, cursing mentally at just how fucked up her life had gotten. To the point where she was resorted to hiding from her current guardian, who was possessed by a demon, pretending to give her brother info on a damn freaking Archangel! It was all too much, and Sandy wished wholeheartedly that she could tap-out and call it a God-damn day because this was, undoubtedly, way bigger than her and her non-existent hunter abilities could ever hope to handle. </p><p>               "Yeah, yeah," Demon-Bobby agreed to something, the perfect imitation of the man's speech, that she was thrown uncomfortably back to a time where another monster walked around in the flesh of someone else she loved, "I'll bring ya' damn car with me - alright, stay safe you two idjits, I'll see you both soon."</p><p>               <em>Both</em>? Sandy caught with a hopeful skip to her heart. Did that mean that Dean and Sam were somehow together and safe from both Demon and Angel assholes alike? Sandy sincerely hoped so, because at least one thing had to go right today, and her brothers working together again would definitely be a step in the right direction.</p><p>               Scrambling as quietly as she could back the way she came, right out of the house, Sandy sprinted her way over to the impala. Rushing to yank the driver's side door open with shaky hands, Sandy leant in to pull the little leaver tucked under the steering wheel to pop the hood, before climbing out and shutting the door as quietly as she could. </p><p>               Looking up towards the house to make sure Demon-Bobby wasn't insight, Sandy raced around to the trunk, all but throwing herself into it in a panicked rush. She closed the trunk-door as quietly as she could, but given that it needed a little force to engage the lock, she regrettably did have to slam it a little, making her wince as the whole damn car proceeded to shake with her actions. </p><p>               For a moment, all Sandy could do was just lay there, holding her breath, with her eyes tightly closed, praying to every deity she knew of that Demon-Bobby hadn't heard that. And as the minutes painstakingly passed her by with no sign of discovery, Sandy started to relax, or at the very least, as much as she was able to, while trapped in a cramped dark space as she was. Sandy and small spaces had never been the best of friends, she could firmly put the blame for that on Adam, who had accidentally locked her in the understairs cupboard during a game of hide-and-seek when she was a kid. </p><p>               Aiming to distract herself, Sandy's still unsteady hands reached down to pat at her legging-clad butt, in search of the phone she usually kept tucked there, only to come away empty-handed. Cursing her lack of jeans, or more importantly the bum-pockets attached to them, Sandy remembered that she hadn't had her phone with her today. Leading to the frustrating realisation that she had effectively trapped herself with a demon, of whom was hell-bent of getting to her brothers, all with no actual way to warn them of this truly terrible turn of events - not her best and brightest idea, she'd admit.</p><p>               But before she could berate herself farther for her own stupidity, the driver's door opened, and the tell-tail movement of someone climbing in startled a gasp from her. In a matter of moments, all of which Sandy spent with her heart lodged down somewhere down deep in her gut, Demon-Bobby had managed to start the car and pull out of Bobby's yard, with an unnecessary amount of speed to have her small frame sliding back to hit against the inner wall of the trunk with a pained groan. </p><p>               Feeling relatively safe in the assumption that Demon-Bobby didn't know that she was there, Sandy stuck her hands out to brace herself, while she mentally allowed herself several moments to freakout as quietly as she could, before she allowed herself to pull her big-girl panties on and tried to figure out a game plan for this mission impossible that she had landed herself in. </p><p>               Saving Bobby, was obviously the main goal, but pass that, Sandy had no real idea as to what the hell she had thought she was doing by climbing in this damn trunk. The safe and far smarter option would have been to simply wait until Demon-Bobby had left and then called her brothers to warn them, but <em>no</em> . . . in her fear she had chosen quite possibly the worst of the two options available to her. </p><p>               Here's to hoping she hasn't just damned them all because of it. </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. CH11, The Choices We Make</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Sympathy for the Devil, S05E01</strong>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>               <strong>A</strong>ll-day Sandy had been trapped - All. Freaking<em>.</em> Day - in the trunk of her brother's car, with no hope of ever feeling fresh-air on her face ever again! Okay, so she'd reached her dramatic stage of captivity, which was by far better than her panicked bout of claustrophobia she'd experienced after Demon-Bobby had finally parked the impala. By that point, it had been several long hours of driving non-stop, only for Sandy to realise she didn't have a chance in hell or heaven of picking the damn mocking lock by herself, leaving her trapped. </p><p>               With a frustrated growl, Sandy had resorted to kicking her booted foot up into the truck door above her, causing the whole car to rock with her efforts. <em>Maybe someone will finally notice</em>, she hoped weakly, even though they certainly hadn't earlier when she'd been at it. But given the rapidly dimming light piercing through the small gaps along the seams, where the trunk door met the car's body, night would be coming soon. Meaning there would be fewer people mulling about, which in turn meant that there would be fewer people to potentially spot her bouncing about in the trunk of the car altogether. </p><p>               That also posed the very real concern that she just might be spotted by Demon-Bobby too, but by this point, she was tired, hungry, and beyond <em>done</em> with being locked in a trunk, with quite possibly the worst case of pins and needles of her life. Not to mention the fact that if she didn't get out sometime soon she was going to have an embarrassing accident happen, yep that's right, she was going to pee her pants like a child still learning the meaning of bladder control. </p><p>               With another wrathful growl, Sandy kicked out at the trunk door yet again, and again, and again, losing count in the wake of a truly impressive fit of sudden and all-consuming rage. Sandy, by nature, was not an angry person, so it took quite a lot to push her over the edge, but by God, this trunk had succeeded! And had the trunk in question not suddenly opened right then and there, nearly blinding her to the abrupt shift in light, Sandy's balled up fists would have joined her Dr Martens in their effort to put a serious dent in Dean's beloved car. </p><p>               "Sandy . . ." Sam's beautifully familiar voice sounded in surprise, as he stood over her like some great hulking shadow, thankfully blocking the direct glare coming from the streetlight overhead, of which was blinding to her slowly adjusting eyes. "What the hell . . . Sandy, what are you doing in there?!"</p><p>               Flopping back against the bed of the trunk, of which she had spent all day forcibly laying against, Sandy felt herself go totally boneless as she sucked in her first lungful of fresh air in hours. Fighting off relieved tears as she covered her face with both of her sweaty palms, Sandy was distantly aware of Sam's large hands pawing at her gently, trying to check that she was okay physically, no doubt having already realised that emotionally she was far from it. </p><p>               Lowering her hands to her heaving chest, Sandy blinked wet eyes up at her brother, taking in just how okay he looked with immense relief. The last time she had laid eyes upon him he hadn't been looking so hot, soaked in sweat and regurgitated black demon-blood, screaming out at tormenters that only he had been able to see. </p><p>               Reaching up a shaking hand with a trembling chin, Sandy grabbed up a fistful of his overshirt, all but pulling him into the trunk too, as she wrapped her arms tightly up around his neck, damn near choking him. But with little more than a soft exhale of surprise, Sam returned her embrace readily, all but crushing her shaking form up into his far larger one, letting her know that she was not the only one between the two of them that desperately needed comfort in that moment. </p><p>               A moment that dragged on for as long as they could possibly stretch it, with them simply holding onto each other, basking in the small precious sliver of comfort that it brought them both. But, like all good things, it had to come to an end at some point; especially when the sight of her clearly distressed form laying in the trunk of a car, with Sam's giant intimidating form nearly blanketing over her, caging her against him, made for a suspect sight for any random bypassers. </p><p>               Using the arms wrapped around her, Sam lifted her effortlessly out of the trunk, only pulling back from her when he was sure that she had her legs firmly planted beneath her. Even still, his hand remained locked on her forearm, though that could have been more because her own hand was locked on his own forearm, in some unshakeable Viking Esque greeting that was pretty much the only thing grounding her in that moment. </p><p>               After one last steadying breath, Sandy finally released Sam's arm back to him, bringing her own up to sign, "<em>Bobby is a demon</em>," in a frantic rush, one that she had to repeat slower after he just stood there frowning down at her in confusion. </p><p>               She could tell that he understood her just fine the second time, what with his eyes growing alarmingly wide, as he turned tail on her, rushing off towards a door to one of the motel rooms that Sandy was just now noticing they were stood in front. Dean and Demon-Bobby must be in them, she mused, as she took off after him, she could think of nothing and no one else that would/could insight such emergency in her brother other than Dean.</p><p>               Sandy could hear Sam's shout before she even reached the door behind him, which caused her heart to drop down to her gut, as she pushed herself to catch up behind Sam's ridiculously long legs. But by the time she slammed her way into the doorway, her weakened legs felt like jelly under her, and her heart just about gave out completely, as she first saw Bobby - the <em>real</em> Bobby - laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood.</p><p>               "Heya, Sammy," the lone woman demon crooned at him in an overly seductive tone that bordered on almost cruel sounding, "You miss me? 'Cause I sure missed you."</p><p>               Sandy had almost overlooked her, what with Bobby bleeding out taking precedence, not to mention the huge-ass man-demon pounding away on Dean's face with his giant meaty fists - it was all a little distracting, to say the least. She was small, though taller than Sandy by several inches, with thick, curly, dark brown hair, so dark in fact that it almost looked black in the poorly lit room. She was pretty, not a classic beauty or anything like that, but still someone who could easily turn heads. After all, confidence was key in a woman, and this particular woman had it in spades. </p><p>               "Meg?" Sam sounded in surprise, and not a happy one either, at least not if the flicker of displeasure she could see waring with anger in his eyes as he faced off against the demon was anything to go by.</p><p>               The demon in question, Meg, just grinned up at Sam, completely unfazed by his ire, not even as Sam swung at her. He missed, as Meg moved inhumanly fast, ducking and kicking her leg out into a cheap shot, nailing him straight in the crotch, knocking him to his knees with a sharp inhale, while the male demon continued to wail away on Dean.</p><p>               Seizing the moment of distraction for her own, Sandy shot across the room, dropping down onto her knees beside Bobby, jerking off her hoodie to ball it up and press it against his wound as best she could around the knife still deeply embedded in his stomach. With a terrified whimper, as her grey hoodie rapidly grew a dark burgundy in a matter of seconds, she tried to ignore the goings-on around her as she concentrated solely on Bobby, but Meg's mocking voice was grating on her nerves and hard to block out in that moment.</p><p>               "It's not so easy without those super-special demon powers, huh, Sammy?" And with that said, Meg punched Sam, knocking him down to the floor completely. </p><p>               Sandy could see the male demon kick Dean from her peripheral vision and hear her brother's pained groan in response. But not someone to go down without a fight, Dean used the demon's overconfidence to his advantage, kicking the demon's feet out from under him. He then reached around Sandy, all but knocking her back on her ass, as he grabbed the knife out of Bobby's stomach. An action of which got an aghast expression of protest from Sandy, who watched on in horror, as it caused more blood to pure from Bobby's wound. She knew, of course, that the knife was a special one, and that it was needed if they were to have any chance against the demons, but even still, Bobby would have been better for it to have been left where it was. </p><p>               Scuttling up as Dean swung around, slamming the knife deep into the demon's chest, Sandy immediately rushed to reapply pressure to the wound with her hoodie, distantly aware of Dean climbed to his feet, with the demon-killing knife now firmly in hand. Meg wisely backed away, but Dean didn't give her an inch as he advanced, green eyes alight with a murderous rage, the same look that he had worn the night he beat not-Adam's head in. So really, given just how rapidly the tide had turned in the matter of seconds, Sandy wasn't all that surprised when Meg let out a silent scream, smoking her way out of the poor woman, who collapsed to the ground like a stone in the ocean.</p><p>               Everything moved so fast after that, with Sam and Dean rushing to her side the moment it was safe to do so, both gently moving her away, as they lifted Bobby up and carried him own of the motel room. Sandy waste no time herself, once they got him situated in the back of the impala, she immediately climbed in along with him, tucking her small form in the footwell in front of where he lay on the backbench, back to holding her hoodie against his wound. </p><p>               With a silent sob and shaking shoulders, Sandy crowded in as close to Bobby's unconscious form as she could get, trembling hands applying as much pressure as she could. But as the blood bathed her hands, Sandy couldn't help but think that this was partly her fault, if she had only taken a moment to think before acting, she could have prevented this. If she'd only waited for Demon-Bobby to leave, instead of getting in the truck, she could have called and warned her brothers long in advance . . . and <em>none</em> of this might have happened. Then maybe . . . just maybe, Bobby wouldn't be dying right now. </p><p>               She could hear brothers talking to each other, tones harsh and frantic in their own worry for Bobby, but Sandy paid them no mind, with their voices getting drowned out by the guilt threatening to steal her very next breath. All she could do was focus on the man before her, the one who had taken her into his own home, without hesitation, and had cared for her without refrain. In little under a month, Bobby had become the closet thing to a real father that Sandy had ever had, and Sandy just knew that if she lost another parent that her poor heart would never recover. </p><p>               John had been a fleeting and minor blip in her life, in and out before she had had any real opportunity to get to know him, or him to know her; as had all the other boyfriends that her mom had had over the years, though few they had been. Some of which she'd known for far longer than she'd known Bobby, and yet, it was truly a matter of quality over quantity, he'd been there for her in her darkest moment and he had welcomed her into his solitary life with open arms.</p><p>               And Sandy loved him for it. </p><p>               She'd lost everything she'd ever known before she met him, and despite having met her brothers right after, they could not give her what she had needed, stability in a time where her life was anything but - but Bobby had given her that. With him, she had a home again, a room of her own, dinner on the table a dinner time, and someone to go to if she ever felt the walls of her pain closing in around her. All those trivial things that most people take for granted, just as she had before, those little things that make a home a home, through the actions of someone who cares for you.</p><p>               <em>Please don't take him</em>, Sandy prayed, eyes closed, with her wet lashed kissing the thin skin under her eyes, as her chin trembled noticeably. <em>Please don't take him from me too</em>. </p><p>               It felt like a lifetime before Dean finally pulled the impala into an emergency entrance to the local hospital, tires squealing, sending her slamming jarringly into the bench back of the front seats behind her. But with a grunt, she steadied herself, rightening her hands still applying pressure, right as the door to Sam's side of the car opened. Sam was there first, fishing Bobby out of the car by his ankles, before Dean got there, wherein which they both took an arm and leg, carrying him straight in. </p><p>               Climbing over the front seat, Sandy had the presence of mind to pull the keys from the ignition, where Dean had left them in his haste before she fled the car after them. She had to run since they had travelled fast, ducking and bobbing her way through people before she found them again. </p><p>               "Can we get some help over here!" Dean shouted.</p><p>               "What happened?" A nurse demanded to know, as she and several doctors in scrubs rushed up to take Bobby from Sam and Dean. </p><p>               "He was stabbed," Sam explained, wide eyes never once leaving Bobby's limp and bloody form. </p><p>               "Can we get a gurney?" The same nurse shouted, of which was immediately followed up by two other nurses rushing up to them with a gurney, where on the doctors rushed to place Bobby.</p><p>               "Hang on, Bobby," Dean pleaded, voice thick, as he laid an unsteady hand upon the unconscious man's shoulder graspingly, "Hang in there. You're gonna be okay."</p><p>               With him now on a gurney, the doctors wasted no time rush him off, of which had Sam and Dean moving to follow, only for the first Nurse to step up into their way, ordering them to, "Just wait here."</p><p>               Now knowing that she wasn't about to get in any doctor's way while they were trying to help Bobby, Sandy rushed forward, all but barreling into Sam's side, who readily hooked an arm over her shoulder, tucking her tight into his side. She clung to his over-shirt with bloody hands, as he said to the retreating nurse in protest, "We can't just leave him."</p><p>               "Just don't move," the nurse ordered of them from over her shoulder, finger-pointing almost warningly, as she stated, "I've got questions."</p><p>               "Sammy, we got to go," Dean said in conflict with the longing way his eyes followed Bobby's gurney around the corner.</p><p>               "No," Sam immediately protested, arm tightening around Sandy, who was shooting Dean a look of distress all of her own caused by his words. "No way, Dean."</p><p>               "The demons heard where the sword is," Dean reminded on a lowered voice, shooting Sam a hard look, one that made him look far older than he actually was, "We got to get to it before they do - if we're not too late already - come on."</p><p>               With no real choice on the matter, Sam followed along behind their brother, pulling her along beside him, still tucked under his large arm, clinging to him like a little kid. Bringing the sleeve of her long-sleeve t-shirt up to her face, Sandy tried vainly to mop up her tears somewhat, as she hiccuped in her fight to hold anymore off. </p><p>               By the time the cold outside air hit her, Sandy felt marginally more steady about herself, enough that she was actually able to release Sam's shirt back to him, as she moved to hand the impala's keys off to Dean. Who looked down at the red tainted keys with a surprised look, before he pulled her gently into his body, leaning down place a lingering kiss upon her forehead, saying, "Good looking out, sweetheart."</p><p>               She smiled softly when he pulled back, though her heart wasn't in it, as she passively allowed Sam to ferry her into the car, while Dean jogged around to the driver's side. She was put between her two brothers in the front, not surprising since the backbench looked like a murder scene, blood painting the black upholstery in a sickening wet sheen of red. It was a cramped fit, given just how big her brothers were, especially Sam, but she was thankfully small enough to fit comfortably between them both without elbows hitting into her sides. </p><p>               Hooking her arm through Sam's, Sandy slumped into his side in exhaustion, both physical and mental, as Dean pulled away from the hospital. She wanted to ask where they were going, and about this mystery sword that they and the demon masses were looking for, but couldn't find it in herself to care too much in that moment. She knew it had to be important, but Sandy just didn't care, all she could think about was Bobby and how he was currently fighting for his life. </p><hr/><p>               "<em><strong>W</strong>here are we?</em>" Sandy signed to Sam, as Dean pulled the impala into a storage lot, after sitting in silence for the four and a half hours it took to get them here, of which Sandy had spent most of sleeping against Sam's side. </p><p>               "Dad's storage lock-up," Sam answered, as Dean climbed from the car, the door closing behind him, with Sam following suit on the other side, holding the door open for her to climb out after him. </p><p>               She actually knew a little about this place from Bobby, who had told her all about the secret places that most hunters kept, full of weapons, supernatural objects that they couldn't destroy, research, and personal mementoes. He'd never mentioned that John had had one, nor had she thought to ask, but it wasn't a surprise that he did, hunting was the man's life after all. </p><p>               She slid her way out of the car, pulling her slumped pony-tail loose to re-do it, as she followed along behind Dean, with Sam sticking protectively close at her side. Both had their guns at the ready, she noted with a skip in her heartbeat, as her hands dropped down from her now secure hair to her sides, as they entered the building. She wanted to believe that they were just being overly cautious, but the sight of several dead bodies that greeted them right off the bat, littering the place gruesomely, obliterated that hopeful thought soundly.</p><p>               They were demons, she guessed, as she spied their burnt-out eyes, just how Bobby had claimed they looked after being smite-ed by an Angel, meaning that <em>that</em> was what they were walking in to. And given their luck, she'd bet all to her name that it wasn't gonna' be Castiel waiting for them, but some other winged dick, who was no doubt hell-bent of killing them for something or another. </p><p>               "I see you told the demons where the sword is," an older, balding man spoke up from a dark corner of their father's lock-up, causing all three of them to turn in surprise. With Sam and Dean aiming their guns straight for the man's head, not that Sandy was sure it would actually do them again good, he was an Angel, after all. </p><p>               He'd brought some Angel muscle with him, two men bookending him on either side, several paces back from where he now stood, at the heart of the room. </p><p>               "Oh, thank god," Dean dead-panned sarcastically, "The angels are here."</p><p>               "And to think . . . they could have grabbed it any time they wanted," the main Angel taunted, waving a hand to close the door with his Angel mojo, "It was right in front of them."</p><p>               "What do you mean?" Sam was the one to ask.</p><p>               "We may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck's skull, but it happened to be true. We did lose the Michael sword. We truly couldn't find it," the Angel-douche admitted with his face curling up into a too-wide smile, paired with cold eyes that made all the hair on Sandy's arms stand on end, "Until <em>now</em>. You've just hand-delivered it to us."</p><p>               "We don't have anything," Dean countered with a frown, as he and Sam share a look of confusion between them.</p><p>               "It's <em>you</em>, chucklehead," the Angel laughed mockingly, "<em>You're</em> the Michael sword."</p><p>               Dean just stared at the man-Angel, frown deepening, while Sandy's hand grasped at the back of his shirt, confused and not at all following the conversation unfolding before her. </p><p>               "What, you thought <em>you</em> could <em>actually</em> kill Lucifer? You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing?" The Angel question in a mocking voice, before he laughed again, shaking his head as he said, "No. You're just a human, Dean. And not much of one."</p><p>               "What do you mean, I'm the sword?" Dean gritted out, looking like he was about two seconds away from unloading some led into the Angel's head, despite knowing that it would do him no good, though Sandy was sure it would have still been satisfying none-the-less.</p><p>               "You're Michael's weapon," The Angel answered, just as unhelpful as he had before, at least for Sandy, who still had no idea what the damn sword was, "Or, rather, his . . . receptacle."</p><p>               "I'm a vessel?" Dean questioned, voice rising a notch in alarm, as he shared another weighted look with Sam.</p><p>               Sandy finally understood what was happening around her, sorely wishing that she hadn't, because she knew all about what a vessel was, Castiel had kindly explained it all for her, when she asked why he looked human the first time she met him. So she understood what it was this dick with wings wanted from her brother, which was essentially to erase him and have another Angel wear his body like a cheap suit prom, just like the ghouls had done with Adam and her mom.</p><p>               Dean would be as good as dead. </p><p>               "You're <em>the</em> vessel," the Angel confirmed, hands raised out at his sides, acting like it was some big honour that Dean should be humbled by, "<em>Michael's</em> vessel."</p><p>               <em>Yeah, well, Michael can just go get fucked</em>, Sandy thought in a twist of angry fear, she was not gonna' lose any more brothers to body-snatching assholes. </p><p>               "How?" Dean asked incredulously, "Why - why me?"</p><p>               And there rises the ugly head of his self-esteem issues, courtesy of their deadbeat dad, no doubt wondering why he'd be thought worthy of being an Angel's vessel, let alone an Archangel's vessel. One day, Sandy vows, she was gonna' be sure to rid him of that pesky self-hate that seemed so deeply enrooted in his very being, Sam's too. They were good men, the best, and it angered her something fierce that they just could not see that simple truth about themselves. </p><p>               "Because you're chosen!" The Angel exclaimed in mock cheer, once again explaining nothing, before adding, "It's a great honour, Dean."</p><p>               "Oh, yeah," Dean snorted, face turning up in a sneer, "Yeah, life as an angel condom. That's <em>real</em> fun. I think I'll pass, thanks."</p><p>               "Joking. Always joking," the Angel's voice turned hard, even as his face continued to smile, a truly unnerving sight to behold, that filled Sandy with a growing sense of foreboding, "Well . . . no more jokes."</p><p>               With a face still smiling, the Angel raised one hand, holding his fingers like a gun, pointing at Dean, before then shifting to point at Sam instead. With her heart beating like a panicked humming bird's wings in her chest, Sandy just knew something bad was about to happen, the truth of it was all there in the Angel's eyes.</p><p>               "Bang," the Angel sounded, flicking his 'hand' gun up as he mocks firing, getting an instantaneous and sickeningly loud crunch from Sam stood before her.</p><p>               He dropped to the ground before her, too heavy for her too keep standing by herself, causing her to drop with him, hands still clutching at his sides from behind. </p><p>               "God!" Sam shouted in agony, hands reaching down at grasp at his leg, of which Sandy could see with horrified eyes was resting at an unnatural angle, a sight of which made her stomach roll in protest. </p><p>               "You son of a bitch!" Dean raged.</p><p>               "Keep mouthing off, I'll break more than his legs. I am completely and utterly through screwing around," the Angel warned savagely, "The war has begun. We don't have our general. That's bad. Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the adversary. You understand me?"</p><p>               "How many humans die in the crossfire, huh?" Dean demanded, seething at the bit, as he stepped up to the Angel, "A million? Five, ten?"</p><p>               "Probably more," the Angel shrugged dismissively, "If Lucifer goes unchecked, you know how many die? <em>All</em> of them. He'll roast the planet alive."</p><p>               "There's a reason you're telling me this instead of just nabbing me," Dean suddenly frowned, as he stepped back again, with a look of understanding closing his face with a mocking smirk of his own, "You need my consent. Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin."</p><p>               "Unfortunately," the Angel got out, like it left a bad taste in his mouth to do-so, "Yes."</p><p>               "Well, there's got to be another way," Dean countered. </p><p>               "There is no other way," the Angel snapped, his smile finally falling away, "There <em>must</em> be a battle. Michael <em>must</em> defeat the serpent. It is written."</p><p>               "Yeah, maybe," Dean rebuffed, "But, on the other hand . . . <em>Eat me</em>. The answer's <em>no</em>."</p><p>               "Okay. How about this? Your friend Bobby - we know he's gravely injured," the Angel bargained, resorting Bobby down to nothing more than a bargaining chip, of which stoked a rage in Sandy's gut that damn near stole her very breathe, "Say yes, and we'll heal him. Say no, he'll never walk again."</p><p>               Looking down at them still on the floor, Sam clutching his leg, with Sandy crowding him fearfully from behind, Dean looked conflicted for a moment, before his vision cleared. Regret and pain wared in his eyes, before he squared his shoulders stubbornly, letting Sandy know what his answer would be before he even opened his mouth. </p><p>               "No," Dean refused. </p><p>               And while part of her wanted to scream at him to change his mind, to save Bobby at any cost, she knew he couldn't, the cost was simply too high. They couldn't just stand idly back and let this dick with wings and his evil henchmen jump-start the damn apocalypse. Bobby wouldn't want them too, nor did she think that he would ever forgive them if they did, especially if his survival came at a cost to one of them. </p><p>               "Then how about we heal you from . . ." the Angel's voice turned ice-cold, as he tucked his hands casually into the pockets of his suit trousers, "Stage-four stomach cancer?"</p><p>               Dean doubled over, coughing in a pained wheeze, spitting up blood into his palm. To which got a growled protest of, "<em>No</em>," from Dean, who remained unwavering in his conviction, even in the wake of his obvious pain.</p><p>               "Then let's get really creative," the Angel countered harshly, with his cold eyes locking now upon Sandy, effectively turning her blood to ice in her veins with fear, "Uh, let's see how . . . Sandy - was it? - does without her lungs."</p><p>               With a startled gasp, Sandy's hands frantically left Sam's shirt in favour of clutching desperately at her chest, as she fought for breathe that wouldn't come. She fell over to her side, jarring her head hard off the ground, not that she felt it in that moment, just like how she couldn't feel her nails digging deep into the flesh of her chest as she struggled to find breathe.</p><p>               Despite their own pains, both of her brothers tried to crawl to her, with Sam letting out a panicked cry of her name. He reached her first, having been closest already, pulling her up to cradle protectively against his chest with one arm, while the hand of the other came up to her face, turning her so his wet eyes of worry could meet her own. </p><p>               "Are we having fun yet?" The Angel-dick actually laughed, "You're going to say yes, Dean."</p><p>               With a soft thump and a wheeze of pain, Dean dropped gracelessly beside where Sam cradled her, growling out defiantly, "Just kill us."</p><p>               "Kill you?" The Angel sounded in put-upon surprise, "Oh, no. I'm just getting started."</p><p>               But before he could come up with a new and equally painful and horrifying act, a bright light flashes throughout the room, causing Sandy's already streaming eyes to squeeze tight in surprised pain from it's glare. Still fighting for breathe, no doubt a pretty unflattering shade of blue by now too, Sandy barely managed to turn her head to see what was happening, right as one of the Angel-henchmen collapsed with a bloody hole in his throat.</p><p>               And there, stood right behind where that fallen Angel had been, Castiel stood, looking more otherworldly in that moment than ever before. A true warrior of God, as he fought the remaining henchmen with a swiftness that Sandy's mere human eyes couldn't quite follow completely, as her struggles for breathe grew weaker and weaker with every second that passed. And in another painful flash of bright light, Castiel stabbed the remaining Angel-henchman with his blade, while the main Angel-douche just stared on in shock - clearly, he hadn't counted on the possibility of Castiel turning up to foil his diabolical plans.</p><p>               "How are you . . ." Sandy faintly heard the Angel ask of Castiel, as her body's fight grew to a shuttered close in Sam's arms, with her hands falling weakly at her sides, much to her brothers' join alarm.</p><p>               "Alive?" Castiel finished for Angel-douche, "That's a <em>good</em> question. How did these two end up on that airplane? Another good question. 'Cause the angels didn't do it. I think we both know the answer, don't we?"</p><p>               "No," Angel-douche refused to believe what Castiel was clearly trying to insinuate, "That's not possible."</p><p>               "It scares you," Castiel walked tauntingly closer for every step that Angel-douche took away from him, "Well, it should. Now, put them back together and go. I won't ask twice."</p><p>               The Angel-douche vanished into thin air, but Sandy hardly noticed, as she suddenly went from her vision closing in on her with darkness, the life literally living her body with every growing dot of black that marred her sight, to then shooting up in Sam's arms, whole once more. But even still, she couldn't quite seem to catch her breath in her panic, hands back to frantically clutching at her chest, as she tried to get her restored lungs to do their damn job.</p><p>               "Sandy, <em>breath</em>," Sam ordered pleadingly of her, hand coming back up to her face, as he tried to lock eyes with her, exaggerating his breathes for her to follow as an example. </p><p>               And after a few unsuccessful attempts, Sandy finally managed to suck a lungful of air, causing her whole body to choke and seize with just how painfully harsh it was thanks to her panicked state. Falling back heavy against Sam's chest, she turned her head as best she could, to lock her eyes on his face, vainly following his breathing technic with clumsy attempts of her own. Until, finally, her breaths evened out, and Sandy could do little more than sob out her distress, turning her pale face into Sam's chest, as his arms tightened around her shaking form. </p><p>               She was gonna' have nightmares about that, Sandy just knew it, accompanied with more PTSD than her already fragile state of mind cared for. Distantly, she was aware of Sam's arranging her more comfortably in his arms, before he scooped her up, cradling her like she was something precious against his broad chest, as he climbed to his feet. </p><p>               "You need to be more careful," Castiel stated in that detached emotionless manner of his. </p><p>               "Yeah, I'm starting to get that," Dean agreed flippantly, as he too climbed to his feet, "Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought."</p><p>               "I don't mean the angels," Castiel warned, "Lucifer is circling his vessel. And once he takes it, those hex bags won't be enough to protect you."</p><p>               And with that said, Castiel placed a hand upon Dean's chest, before placing the other upon Sam's, with his hand resting right above where Sandy's body was curled against Sam's, drawing a pained gasp from the two of them.</p><p>               "What the hell was that?" Dean demanded with a pained grunt, right as Sam stumbled under the compensation of her weight and pain, before promptly rightening himself, clutching her tighter to his chest in protest, as Castiel's hand reached for her next.</p><p>               "An Enochian sigil," Castiel explained, as his hand found it's way upon her chest despite Sam's best efforts to hold him off, drawing an agonised gasp from her soon after, as he explained farther still, "It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer."</p><p>               "What, did you just <em>brand</em> us with it?" Dean asked in outrage. </p><p>               It sure as hell felt like it, Sandy thought as she groaned into Sam's shoulder, with a hand coming up to attempt to rub away the lingering pain now gathered there. It did nothing to chase the pain away, but thankfully, it was fading into more of a dull and consistent ache rather than a sharp and piercing one that it had started off with. </p><p>               "No," Castiel answered, before adding, "I carved it into your ribs," as if <em>that</em> made it somehow better. </p><p>               "Hey, Cas," Sam called to get the Angel's attention, of which was unsurprisingly fixed upon Dean, "Were you really dead?"</p><p>               And that was the first Sandy was hearing of it, but then again, she really didn't know much about the situation she had unfavourably found herself staring in - something she really needed to rectify ASAP. She needed to ask more damn question, no matter how much she didn't actually want to know, because burying her head in the sand was not going to help her in the long run. These Angels mean business, and clearly, they weren't above acting like your common demon to achieve their endgame results, even if that meant stealing the lungs of a sixteen-year-old girl to force her brother's hand. </p><p>               "Yes," Castiel answered evenly, without even a shred of feeling on the matter, as if to say it was of no consequence or importance.</p><p>               "Then how are you back?" Dean asked what they were all thinking on a swallowed thickly, clearly more affected by that confirmation than even Castiel seemed to be himself.</p><p>               But instead of answering, Castiel vanished, leaving them alone to deal with the dead.</p><p>               "I really hate it when he does that," Dean grumbled lowly before he crossed to stand before Sam, bringing a hand up to brush a few escaping strands of blonde from Sandy's sweat glistened face in a gentle caress, as he attempted to smile weakly down at her, asking, "You alright, sweetheart?"</p><p>               <em>No</em>, she wanted to say truthfully but thought better of it, especially after she turned from Sam's chest to lay eyes upon Dean's tired ones, acknowledging in that moment that she wasn't the only one who just experienced a serious trauma of epic proportions. Honestly too tired to even attempt signing, Sandy just reached a slightly unsteady hand up to pat Dean on his stubble dusted cheek, before letting it rest there with a soft barely-there smile, that she was sure he didn't believe, even as he returned it.</p><p>               "You take her out to Baby," Dean ordered of Sam gently, followed by a sigh, before he added, "I'll start bringing the bodies out - we can bury them in the woods around back."</p><p>               Sandy's heart clenched in silent protest at the idea of taking the bodies of these poor people and throwing them in unmarked graves, no doubts probably far away from their homes, where their loved ones would never find them, or know what had even happened to them. She couldn't imagine a worse thing to happen on top of losing someone, not ever knowing what had become of them, left to morn without even so much as a body to say goodbye to. </p><p>                But what else could they do? They couldn't just leave them here to rot, nor could they call the police either, so it's not like they had any other viable options afforded to them. But even still . . . it just didn't sit right with Sandy to bury them in unmarked graves and just call it a day. Not unlike what they had had to do with Adam and her mom, burn them and disappear into the wind, with no one ever knowing what had really happened to them, or even Sandy herself for that matter. </p><p>               She realised in that moment, with a painful lurch in her gut, that she was just as much a casualty of this shadow war as the owners of those bodies that those demons had been parading around in. She may not have started out that way, but from the moment she chose to remain in her brothers' general vicinity, she effectively signed her own death warrant, because now she was on both the Angels and Demons radar, and she very much doubted that they'll just conveniently forget about having met her.</p><p>               She was all in now. Whether she wanted to be or not, this fight had just become hers now too, if only because she refused to lose anyone else to it. Sam and Dean thought it was their job, as her brothers, to protect her - well, if that was so, then it was a job that went both ways, and while she may not be capable of much, that wouldn't stop her from giving it her all. </p><p>               It was about time somebody looked after them right back. </p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. CH12, Birthday Blues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: Time-Jump dead ahead!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The Real Ghostbusters, S05E09</strong>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>               <strong>S</strong>andy sat tucked in between her two brothers on the front bench of Baby, happily tapping her fingers against her knees to Guns N' Roses' Paradise City, of which were crossed and resting comfortably upon her brothers' thighs beside her. Two people of whom looked considerably less chipper than she did, to say the least, in fact, they had spent the first hour after finding her stowed away in the truck yelling at her continuously.</p><p>               Yep, that's right, she had once again stowed away in Baby's trunk, of which was becoming a signature move of hers, to the point where Dean had vowed that he was going to check the truck every time now before he left her, just in case. She apparently couldn't be trusted to use common sense, and while she would freely admit that she was impulsive to the point of reckless at times, she could not find it in herself to regret climbing in Baby's truck that morning. </p><p>               See, the thing was, it had been six months since <em>that</em> night, all of which Sandy had spent right at Bobby's side, helping him adjust to his new life wheelchair-bound, no matter how much he bitched and moaned that he didn't need help, hers or anyone else's for that matter. It hadn't been the easiest six months of her life - again, she'd freely admit to that - especially since her bother's were away more often than not, leaving her to deal with Bobby on his bad days, of which there were many.</p><p>               And if that hadn't been bad enough, they had had to deal with the literal Horseman of War first up out of the gate, as if they needed any clearer indication that - despite their personal troubles - the war was still going on around them and would not be put on the back burner for their convenience. And their problems didn't stop there, because just like the two warring factions, the regular monsters preying on innocent people wouldn't be deterred either.</p><p>               Which brought about solo Vampire hunts from Dean, since he had been refusing to hunt with Sam for a brief spell, due to their bout of trust issues; then came time-travel trips to the bleak and not-so-distant future, because time-travel was apparently a thing now too; and the hunting of a Leshi, of which was a forest God disguising itself as Paris Hilton, of all people; followed by the meeting of Jesse, of whom was the most adorable Anti-Christ ever, who was now in the wind; not to mention poker playing witches, who had her out in the thick of it, chasing after a stubborn Bobby, hell-bent on being stupid, resulting in Dean paying the price; and let's not forget the most recent of their cases, a Trickster, of whom then turned out to actually be another damn Angel, because they didn't already have enough as it was to contend with, traping her brothers in a TV-Land form of torture. </p><p>               So, it was safe to say that Sandy hadn't had the best of times of late, which was why she was more pissed that her brothers had attempted to ditch her for yet another case, on her birthday, no less. Okay, it was for a good reason, a friend - Chuck? - had messaged them apparently desperate for their immediate help. So she wasn't really pissed, just disappointed as all hell, since she'd been looking forward to spending the day with them; she'd even made her own damn birthday cake for the occasion and everything. </p><p>               Which was why she only felt marginally guilty about stowing away in the trunk of Baby, intending to spend her birthday with them no matter what, even if that meant that she had to face-off against another monster. Bobby had understood, especially when he found the note she had left him stuck to the fridge via a magnet, not only that, he'd seen her face when Sam had told her they wouldn't be around for her birthday - and she was ashamed to say it almost brought her to tears on the spot. Pathetic, she knew, but - God, damn it! - was one normal freaking day spent as a family <em>really</em> too much to ask for?</p><p>               Which how she came to be curled, far more comfortable that time, in the trunk of Baby, with a pillow and her Phone in hand, freshly loaded up with enough music to keep her occupied for however long the drive took them. She had had her backpack of essentials, a change of clothes, her toothbrush and paste, tucked up against her back. Overall, it had been a much more pleasant a journey than the last one she had taken locked up in there, that was for sure.</p><p>               To simply say that Dean and Sam had been pissed would have been a grossly exaggerated understatement, especially Dean, who had flipped and was about two seconds from driving her sneaky ass right back home. But Sam had been there, the voice of reason, stating that while he didn't like the thought of putting her in danger - a far cry from the time he used a bait, huh? - it was simply too out of the way to waste travelling half the day back, especially if they wanted to reach Chuck in time, before whatever monster was causing him problems decided to make a snack out of him. </p><p>               So, long story made short, that was how Sandy came to be riding front and centre, as the impala roared it's way up a country road, wheels squealing around the corner into a car park, right past an old fashioned sign of "<strong>Welcome to The Pineview Hotel</strong>". Sandy, not as used to these 'abrupt parking skills' as her brothers clearly were, let out a panicked sound deep in her throat, all but digging her nails into Sam's arm, of which was promptly jerked from her tight hold, as they literally pulled up and then jumped right on out. </p><p>               For a moment Sandy just sat and blinked in confusion, before she scuttled right out after them, afraid she'd get left in their dust, as they ran around to the back of the car, where all their hunter goodies where kept. Only to slam into Dean's back, as he came to a sudden stop before her, looking confused by the line up of identical Impalas before him, of which had Sandy frowning in bemusement too. The way you'd hear Dean talk of it, Baby was a one of a kind, or at the very least, a rarity in today's modern age of smart cars and actual seatbelts.</p><p>               "Hey," Sam called out to them, shaking off the trippy sight in favour of nodding pointedly over to the curly-headed man pacing back and forth at the bottom of the steps leading up to the hotel, "Come on."</p><p>               "Chuck!" He called out, heading right for the nervous-looking man, "There you are."</p><p>               "Guys?" Chuck stumbled to a stop, looking at them in surprise and more than a little confusion of his own, as he blinked up at them with a deep frown creased between his brows.</p><p>               "What's going on," Dean asked, clearly in relation to why they were called here, especially when the man who had supposedly called them looked surprised to be seeing them and all. </p><p>               "Ah, nothing," Chuck answered, looking all kinds of awkward and shifty, "You know, I'm just kinda hanging. What are you guys doing here?"</p><p>               "You told us to come," Dean reminded like it wasn't already obvious, he was the one who had sent them the S.O.S. message, after all.</p><p>               "Ah, <em>no</em> I didn't," Chuck denied on an awkward chuckle, looking between her brothers in bemused confusion.</p><p>               "Yeah, you did, you texted me," Sam insisted, "This address, life or death situation. Any of this ringing a bell?"</p><p>               "I didn't send you a text." Chuck insisted right back. </p><p>               "We drove all night!" Dean snapped, arms getting thrown out at his sides to empathise his irritation, before pointing a finger at Sandy, all but shouting, "On our sister's <em>birthday</em>, Chuck - we drove <em>all</em> night!"</p><p>               "You have a sister . . ." Chuck asked distractedly, getting a glare and a dangerous eye-twitch from Dean, before he corrected himself, quickly jumping to apologise, "I'm sorry, I don't understand what could . . . oh no."</p><p>               "What?" Dean demanded harshly, causing Chuck to wisely take a nervous step back.</p><p>               But before he could even do much past open his mouth, an ear-piercing squeal sounded from the top of the stairs, "SAM! You made it!!"</p><p>               "Oh, ah," Sam startled, actually taking a step back himself as the eager girl came running down the steps, causing him to bump right into Sandy behind him, "Becky, right?"</p><p>               "Oh, you remembered," Becky squealed again in delight before her voice lowered suggestively, "You've been thinking about me."</p><p>               "I . . ." Sam floundered, getting an amused snort from Sandy, and a subtle glare from him in return, both of which Becky was thankfully blind to.</p><p>               "It's ok, I can't get you out of my head either," Becky continued, completely serious, and damn near impregnating Sam with her wildly intense eyes. </p><p>               "Becky, did you take my phone?" Chuck asked in disbelief, as he shot Sam and Dean apologetic looks. </p><p>               "I just borrowed it from your pants," Becky answered with a shrug, clearly not understanding what his problem with that might be, or the simple fact that 'borrowed' was just another word for 'stole' more often than not.</p><p>               "Becky . . ." Chuck sighed in exasperation, only to be cut off by Becky, who exclaimed, "What? They're going to want to see it!"</p><p>               "See what?" Sam and Dean asked simultaneously, dread and caution clear as day in their voices.</p><p>               "Oh My God," Becky sounded, hands waving erratically to fan her cheeks, "I love it when they talk at the same time!!"</p><p>               <em>What the hell is wrong with this chick?</em> Sandy wondered genuinely because she was clearly a few marbles short of a complete set. She was acting like Sandy's brothers were rock stars, and while Sandy did think that they were pretty badass and awe-inspiring herself, this girl's reaction was a little over the damn top. </p><p>               "Hey, Chuck?" A guy appeared at the top of the stairs with a clipboard, "Come on pal, it's showtime."</p><p>               That got Becky moving, once again squealing like a banshee, running excitedly up the stairs.</p><p>               While Sandy watched her go with a bemused twitch to her brow, Chuck turned to Sam and Dean with a guilty look, nervously breathing out, "Guys . . . I'm <em>sorry</em>. For everything."</p><p>               Eager now herself, Sandy shot her brothers an amused look, seeing them share a dubious look between themselves in a joint expression of pure confusion, all before she led the charge to follow Chuck up the stairs. The hotel, far from the crappy motels she had come to associate with her brothers, was rich with age and history, looked to be several steps up from their usual price range. </p><p>               The interior of the hotel looked old in an old-lady-living-room kinda way, with ugly ass floral print curtains and matching armchairs sat by the large arched windows, which was totally out of sync with the abundance of young people crowding the foyer. Sandy came to an abrupt stop with her mouth agape, as she noted right-off-the-bat that everyone was weirdly dressed just like Sam and Dean, and not just in a flannels-for-all type of way, but an I'm-gonna-wear-you-for-Halloween kinda way.</p><p>               "Ha-ha-ha," a large man, clearly dressed as Dean - right down to a Samulet around his neck - walked past, holding a stein of beer laughed jovially, as he winked at Dean, "Hey Dean, looking good."</p><p>               "Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded, causing the man to turn back to face him, with a chuckle and an incredulously look shared between them all as if to say 'isn't it obvious, bro?'"</p><p>               "I'm Dean too - <em>Duh</em>."</p><p>               Sandy just laughed silently, shoulders shaking with the effort of it, as Dean turned to face Sam, sharing an utterly confused expression of which was just shy of being adorable on his handsome mug. That confusion only lasts for as long as it took him to notice something over Sam's shoulder, someone dressed up in a creepy-ass Scarecrow costume, prompting a curious Sam to turn to see what it is that had startled their brother so.</p><p>               "Uh-oh," the scarecrow playfully sounded, holding his hands up in mock surrender, with one holding a soda can and the other a scythe, "It's Sam and Dean - I'm in trouble now - Have fun you two. Aaaah!"</p><p>               He jiggles his scythe in Sam's face playfully as he passes them by, drawing a truly major bitchface from her brother, as Becky came to stand behind them, giggling almost manically. <em>This girl is off her rocker</em>, Sandy decided, as she watched the girl eye-rape her brother unabashedly. Hell, it made Sandy uncomfortable, so she could only imagine how it made Sam feel - not good, at least not if the look that he was receiving was enough to have a 6'4" man, such as Sam, squirming uncomfortably and backing up into Sandy's drastically smaller frame as if seeking protection. </p><p>               Blinking astoundedly down at the girl, Dean asked, "What?" But since Becky's attention was firmly fixed upon Sam, Dean got no answer, prompting him turned to Sam, and together they both looked around the room. It was filled wall-to-wall with people dressed as all manner of monsters, like something out of a bad episode of Scooby-Doo: vampires, clowns, people with black demon eyes, and even a skinny woman dressed as Bobby, of all people.</p><p>               Sandy's own attention was drawn to several tables lined against one wall, selling merchandise with the Impala on coffee cups, Chuck's books and more, all of which Sandy was eager to dig into. She was aware of the books, of course, but Sam had point-blank refused to give her the name of the series and author so she might read them too, much to her irritation. But here they all were, a whole unguarded stack of them, just waiting for her to get her hands onto them and all the secrets of her brothers lives that they held inside. </p><p>               She was <em>definitely</em> going to be bagging them before they left.</p><p>               "Becky," Sam addressed cautiously, still backing up into Sandy unconsciously, which in turn got her a glare from the wild-eyed woman, "What is this?"</p><p>               "<em>Who</em> is this?!" Becky counter questioned confrontationally, stepping around Sam to get up in Sandy's face, causing her to go damn near cross-eyed because she got so far into her personal space.</p><p>               "Our little sister," Dean introduced, eyes still looking about him distractedly, "Sandy."</p><p>               "Oh, awesome!" Becky squealed again, hands clapping between them before she reached out and forcibly pulled Sandy against her own body, tight enough to knock Sandy's next breath right out of her chest. "We're gonna' be the best of friends, I just <em>know</em> it!"</p><p>               <em>Dear God</em>, Sandy thought in conflict with the weak smile she attempted to send the other girl's way, <em>I hope not</em>.</p><p>               "Becky," Sam sounded out in exasperation, repeating his question, "What is this?"</p><p>               "It's awesome!!" Becky laughed jovially, hands abruptly releasing Sandy so they could do that excited clapping once again, allowing Sandy to escape back into Dean's side, the farthest she could get away from the girl without leaving the conversation altogether, "A supernatural convention - the first ever."</p><p>               <em>Oh, this is gonna' be the best birthday ever</em>, Sandy thought with a laugh, as she watched eagerly as Sam gave another bitchface, while Dean just continued to look totally confused by it all. Sandy had always wanted to go to Comic-Con, she'd had her costume mentally planned for years, she was gonna' be a female Captain America, putting her long golden hair to good use. But her mother had claimed it was too far for her to go alone, understandably, and with Adam busy with school half the time and her mom's busy work schedule, Sandy had had no one to take her. </p><p>               And sure, while this was nowhere near as grandiose as Comic-Con, it was just close enough to awake Sandy's innermost fan-girl. And a fan-girl of her brothers she was shaping up to be, how could she not? They were awesome, real-life superheroes. And now, thanks to Becky, Sandy could fan-girl to her heart's content, all without her stubborn brothers putting a stop it. </p><p>               She was getting her hands on those books, come high or hell water, even if she had to smuggle them into Baby's truck - it was happening. </p><p>               With a groan, Dean rubbed a hand down his face, proclaiming "I need a drink", before he dropped his hand and turned to face Chuck, asking "Where's the bar".</p><p>               Silently, a sheepish and undeniably apologetic looking Chuck pointed the way, to which Dean acknowledged with only a nod, as he stormed past, with an equally distressed Sam hot on his heels. Sandy followed too, having to skip-run just to catch up with their long and angry strides, right into the cleanest bar Sandy reckoned that her brothers had ever stood in before. </p><p>               Dean dropped heavily down upon a barstool at the bar, ordering a shot right before she got there, drinking it and then slamming down the empty shot glass with a grimaus. Sam was sat on his right, staring morosely down at his newly acquired beer, as Sandy climbed up on the high stool beside him. There was already a glass of coke waiting there for her, which made her smile gratefully, that even lost as they were in their own heads they never forgot her.</p><p>               But then again, maybe they weren't all that lost in their own heads after all, not if Dean had enough care left to eye the woman that was pretending to be the ghost clicking away on her phone at the end of the bar. <em>Typical guy</em>, Sandy thought with a snort, as she took a sip of her drink. She couldn't wait for the day he realised he was actually in love his Angel, that was sure to be highly entertaining, she mused, as she imagined just how shocked he'd be himself by it all. </p><p>               "How you doing?" Dean asked in a serious and unknowing mock of Joey Tribbiani.</p><p>               Not even bothering to look up from her phone, the woman said dismissively, "Busy."</p><p>               "Well, you sure look lovely tonight," Dean flirted, getting an eye roll from Sandy at the sheer cheesiness of it all, "Especially for a dead chick."</p><p>               Still not looking up, the woman rebuffed his attempts with a put-upon sigh, "Buddy, I have heard that line 17 times tonight, ok? And all from dudes wearing MacGyver jackets." But, as she finished speaking, she looked up from her phone to finally see Dean and all his roguish charm directed solely her way, drawing an abrupt pause from the woman as he just continued to look at her, causing a pleasing smile to curl up her pretty mouth. "But you seem different."</p><p>              <em> Yeah, no shit</em>, Sandy snorted again, getting an amused arch brow from Sam at the unladylike sound, especially when she wasn't known for making many sounds at all, even the ones that she could make via her nose and throat. </p><p>               "How so?" Dean asked, smoulder still in place upon his face. </p><p>               "Well," the woman laughed softly, eyes fluttering over at Dean like she had dust in her eye or something, probably not as alluring a look as she probably thought it was, Sandy mused, "You don't seem scared of women."</p><p>               Before Dean could do more than smirk at her in response, a loud voice draw their attention from behind the woman, another guest insisting to his friend that, "For the last time I'm not making this up, ok? She's upstairs, a real live dead ghost."</p><p>               And if <em>those</em> weren't the magic words needed to pique her brothers' interest Sandy didn't know what were.</p><p>               "Excuse me," Dean smiled one last time at the ghost-dressed lady, in favour of following after the two men who had just passed them by, with Sam in-toe. </p><p>               Taking one last sip of her drink, Sandy climbed down from her stool, all but chasing after them once again - damn their superior leg length! </p><p>               "I'm sure it was just one of the ghost actors," the other guest reasoned, getting an incredulous look from his friend who asked peevishly, "Who beat the hell out of me and then vanished?"</p><p>               "You saw something?" Sam asked of the man, who didn't look too pleased with his interruption, to say the least.</p><p>               "This isn't part of the game, jerk," the guy shot at Sam, before turning his gaze back onto his friend, "Look, I'm getting out of here and you should do the same." And with that, he walked away, while his friend called out after him, "Alex, wait. Hey, come back!"</p><p>               "<em>What do you think?</em>" Sandy signed to her brothers eagerly, "<em>Is it a real ghostie?</em>"</p><p>               "I don't think that guy's a good enough an actor to be acting," Dean answered non-committally, as he watched the two retreating men with narrowed eyes, with his inner hunter-senses tingling no doubt.</p><p>               "Think we should dig up some history on the place?" Sam asked of Dean, getting a nod and a "You know it", prompting Dean to lead the way out of the bar. </p><p>               He led them back out to the foyer, where the manager was in fall swing entertaining a group of guests, "Why yes, agents Jagger and Richards - as manager of this fine establishment, I can assure you, it is indeed haunted."</p><p>               He continued his spiel, as Dean lead them right past him on their way to the front desk, wherein Dean then asked of the man behind it, "Excuse us, mind if we ask you a few questions?"</p><p>               The man didn't even bother to give them a courtesy look up, as he continued to type away at his desk-top, "Look, I don't have time to play Star Wars guys. Go ask the guy in the ascot."</p><p>               Not even flinching at the man's rudeness, Dean just pulled out his wallet without hesitation, sliding $50 across the desk, insisting that, "Actually, we ah . . . really want to talk to <em>you</em>."</p><p>               "Ok . . ." the guy sounded out with judging eyes and his brows raised high, as he readily took the offered money, "You guys are <em>really</em> into this."</p><p>               "You have no idea," Sam snorted, getting a silent chuckle from Sandy, as she elbowed him playfully in his side, drawing a reluctant smile from him too.</p><p>               "What do you want to know?" The man asked, ready to finally play ball.</p><p>               "All this stuff they're saying," Sam asked, voice dropping low enough to make the conversation semi-private, drawing the man on the other side of the desk in closer by default, "This place being haunted - Leticia Gore - Any truth to it?"</p><p>               "We generally don't like to publicise this to . . . <em>normal</em> people . . . but, yeah," the guy went on, with his own voice lowering conspiringly to his seemingly captive audience, "1909 this place was called 'Gore Orphanage'. Miss Gore, killed four boys with a butchers knife, then offed herself."</p><p>               "And is tonight really her anniversary?" Dean prompted for more info. </p><p>               "Yep," the guy nod confirmingly, "Guess your convention folks want authenticity."</p><p>               "There been any sightings?" Sam asked.</p><p>               "Yep, over the years," the desk-guy nodded again, "A few maids have quit saying they heard the boys or saw them. A janitor even saw Miss Gore once."</p><p>               "Where did Miss Gore carve up the kids?" Dean asked bluntly, putting the desk-guy on edge, as he flicked an assessing looking between her two brothers.</p><p>               "Look, I don't want you stomping all over the joint," the guy insisted with a slightly panicked edge to his voice, letting Sandy now that his reaction was purely out of self-preservation, he clearly did not wanna' be the one to get in trouble should something get damaged while someone was where they weren't supposed to be, "A lot of this place is off-limits to nerds."</p><p>               Despite his rudeness and juvenile name-calling, Dean just responded by sliding another $50 across the table, to which got an instant soft mummer of, "The attic."</p><p>               Unnoticed by Sandy and her brothers, they weren't the only ones listening to desk-guy, so were two other guests, of whom mistakenly thought it was all part of the game of dress-up they were in the mids of. </p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. CH13, My Mommy Loves Me Not</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>               <strong>T</strong>he attic was just as creep a place to find yourself as Sandy had imagined a hundred plus-year-old hotel's attic would be, with sinister-looking porcelain dolls, and creaky floorboards that were making her way jumpier than was needed in broad daylight, especially when she had her two armed brothers with her as an added layer of protection. </p><p>               In what she was sure was a bid to make her feel useful, they had given her the EMF reader to hold, of which startled a silent scream from her as it started buzzing erratically in her hand, causing her to nearly drop the damn thing. No to mention the add-on of having Sam's unnecessary commentary of "The EMF's going nuts" like they all couldn't already see and hear it for themselves.</p><p>               "Great," Dean remarked sarcastically, gun held out at the ready in one hand and a torch held in the other, as he searched the shadows for clues, looking all Nancy Drew like. "We got a real ghost, and we got a bunch of dudes pretending to be us poking at it."</p><p>               "No way this ends well," Sam agreed, with a snort of dry amusement, as he searched the shadows behind them.</p><p>               Dean scoffed, "Yeah, well, serves them right," clearly showing just how put-out he was to have a bunch of wanna-be-hims' running around.</p><p>               "Dean . . ." Sam said in reprimand, getting a, "I'm just saying", from Dean as they continued to look around in the spiderweb infested space.</p><p>               Having purposefully placed herself firmly between her brothers' tall frames, Sandy was the last to see the appearance of a little ghost-boy, making the sound of his creepy child's voice all the more startling for her. Prompting her to let out a silent screech, with one hand tightening upon the EMF with enough force to make the plastic groan in protest, while her other hand short out to grasp the back of Dean's jacket, as she damn near plastered herself against his back in her fear.</p><p>               "My mommy loves me," the boy said, as he sat crouched in the shadows of a corner, hands holding his head. "I said, my mommy loves me."</p><p>               "I'm sure she does," Sam tried to pacify the ghost as if this was all <em>totally</em> normal, of which she mused it probably was for them, even if she personally was freaking the fuck out on the inside. </p><p>               "My mommy loves me this much," the boy went on insisting, as he moved his hands away from his head, revealing that his poor little head had been partially scalped before then disappearing.</p><p>               The sight was gruesome, to say the least, and had Sandy not been preoccupied with silently screaming out her horror into Dean's back, she might have been losing the Hershey bar she'd snuck into the trunk with her all over the attic floor instead. So, it was no real surprise really, that Sandy was the first out of the attic when Dean finally called it quits for today, resulting in Sandy damn near breaking her neck as she all but threw herself down the attic ladder. </p><p>               Yep, she now knew without a shadow of a doubt that she could add children ghosts to the list of things she never wanted to face again. There was just something so profoundly sad and unbearably heartbreaking about them, having had their lives so cruelly snatched from them, especially when it was in such a violent manner by somebody they were supposed to love and trust to keep them safe. Not to mention freaky as all hell, ask anyone, dead children were pretty much a staple in the horror movie genre. </p><p>               "You alright there, sweetheart?" Dean asked after her, as he dropped down from the ladder beside her, giving her a comforting pat to the shoulder as he stepped back, leaving room for Sam to hop down behind him.</p><p>               "<em>Never better</em>," she signed, earning her an amused snort from him, as he led the way down the hotel. </p><p>               Tucking the now sweat-slick EMF reader into the kangaroo pocket on the front of her navy-blue hoodie, Sandy followed Dean down the stairs, with Sam right at her heels. They discussed the boy and how they were gonna' deal with him the whole way down, though Sandy didn't actively participate more that was necessary, still trying to shake the unnerving sight of the boy from her mind's eye. Without doubt, the memory of his little scalped form, paired with his creepy child's voice, would only result in being more fuel for her already overactive nightmares.</p><p>               And not surprisingly enough, they ended up right back at the bar, with Dean going straight to get them all drinks. He didn't say it, nor did Sam, but she could tell the sight of the ghost had bothered them too, not because it was scary for them as it had been for her, but because of the age the ghost appeared to be - a mere child. Her brothers' were killers and had killed many beings, of all shapes and sizes over the year, most without hesitation she was sure. But that didn't change the fact that they were good men, who did what they did to protect as much innocent life as they could, so when they came across a monster who was once human and the victims they had left in their wake, it <em>bothered</em> them. </p><p>               Just as a mother murdering her small child should bother anyone really, only a monster should be capable of such brutality to one so young, especially when said young person was in some way related to the murderer. Sandy kinda thought it was somehow worst when it was the actions of a mother . . . the one person who was supposed to love and nurture you, the very same person give you life into this cold and unforgiving world. </p><p>               Grabbing them a table near the back of the room, as far away from Becky and her longingly looks as Sandy could get, she watched while Sam paced next to their table, having just ended a call to someone who was supposedly supposed to be able to aid them in their search for the ghosties haunting the hotel. She couldn't help but look around herself self-consciously, fully aware of the attention her age was getting, despite her being only a year below the eighteen-year-old age limit for the event, because she was also fully aware of the simple truth that she didn't look her age at all - she blamed her youthful face and freckles. </p><p>               It was Sam's sigh of frustration that drew Sandy's attention away from the curious looks she was getting, causing her to notice him in-turn noticing Becky watching him, seemingly unbothered by the put-out looks Chuck was giving her. And the poor, awkward Samsquanch that he was, made the grievous mistake of nodding back at her in response, of which had Sandy groaning pityingly on his behalf, knowing that it had just done probably one of the worst things he could have done in that moment - acknowledged her. Crazy-Becky promptly smiled right on back, following up that too eager curl of her lips with a slow and exaggerated lick straight up the middle of her palm, before blowing it at him in a mock of a kiss - because that wasn't seven shades of creepy-stalkerish at all. Looking rightfully concerned, Sam awkwardly half waved at her, once again acknowledging her, getting a full-on suggestive wink back in response.</p><p>               All of which was enough to scare him into rejoining Sandy at a near run, right as Den joined them, drinks in hand. "All right," Sam started after clearing his throat and purposefully taking a seat facing away from Becky, as he held up his phone pointedly, before tabling it in favour of taking his drink in hand, "So that was a guy with the County Historical Society."</p><p>               "And . . . ?" Dean prompted, as he passed Sandy's glass of coke to her, before taking a deep pull from his own drink, of which was most definitely <em>not</em> coke.</p><p>               "Well, not only did Leticia Gore butcher four boys," Sam informed heavily after taking a sip of his own beer, eyes looking sad for a moment before he expanded with, "But one of them was her own son."</p><p>               "<em>Her own son?</em>" Sandy repeated in question, disbelief and horror painting her face, unable to believe that any mother could do something so heinous to their own child. </p><p>               "Yeah," Sam confirmed with a disgusted twist to his mouth, "According to the police at the time, she scalped the kid."</p><p>               "Oh that's it," Dean growled, all but slamming his own drink down on the table, causing the amber liquid to slush precariously up to the edge of the glass, "I'm gonna' deep fry this bitch extra crispy. Did the dude say where she was buried?"</p><p>               "He doesn't know," Sam started to say, only to go silent as a slightly too loud conversation at a nearby table drew his attention away from them.</p><p>               "Check it out," a tall, slender man, clearly pretending to be Sam, exclaimed. In his hands was an old-looking map, to which he held out to another man, a much larger one, who was also clearly play-acting Dean. "There's the orphanage, here's the carriage house, and right there . . . cemetery."</p><p>               "You think that's where Leticia's planted?" The one pretending to be Dean asked, staying in character the whole time, of which was more than a little uncomfortably awkward for all the Winchesters' watching on.</p><p>               "It's worth a shot," the pretend Sam shrugged, right as real Sam reached over between their tables to touch the map for himself, getting twin exclamations of outraged "Hey, hey!" from the two men.</p><p>               Grabbing it from Sam's clutches, pretend Dean glared at Sam, demanding, "Hey, do you mind?"</p><p>               Unconcerned by the antics of their wannabes', Sam turned back to the table, addressing Dean with a surprised expression, "It's <em>real</em> - A century-old, at least - and he's right, there is a cemetery on the grounds."</p><p>               "Where'd you get that?" Dean asked fake-him.</p><p>               "It's called a game, pal," the fake-Dean scoffed, folded the map up and tucked it firmly away from their prying eyes, "It ain't called charity."</p><p>               Signing in mock understanding, Dean lulled the two men into a chuckle, before he's eyes turned hard and he outright demanded with a steady-hand held out, "Gimme' the map, Chuckles."</p><p>               "Yeah, well . . . <em>you're</em> the Chuckles, Chuckles," fake-Dean floundered for a response, "Besides, 'Dean' doesn't listen to nobody," and with that said, fake-Dean pulled back his jacket to reveal a plastic gun with a cock-sure smirk curling up his lips.</p><p>               With a chuckle of her own, Sandy watched on in amusement, hand coming up to rest under her chin, with her elbow resting upon the tabletop, as Dean rolled his eyes at his pretender. All the while the still in character Sam-pretender turned to fake-Dean, and made an attempt to cool down his over-acting friend, "Dean! Cool it."</p><p>               A series of events that got repeated as the real Dean then pulled out his own  - <em>very real</em> -gun, having clearly reached his limit with dealing with these two fan-boys, getting a shout of "Dean!" from in Sam in a mixture of warning protest.</p><p>               "What!" Dean shouted right back defensively, motioning towards the two men with the end of his gun pointedly, even as his eyes turned to lock with Sam's exasperated ones, "They're freakin' annoying."</p><p>               A sentiment that Sandy couldn't help but agree with, even as she took Dean's gun from him, silently laid it on the table, shaking her head in amusement at his antics. Sending her a quick conspiring wink, Dean picked his Taurus up from the table, returning it back into the waistline of his jeans.</p><p>               "Look, guys," Sam tried to defuse, hands coming up in a peaceful motion between the two parties, sending a look that clearly indicated for Dean to quite and to let Sam deal with this evolving situation, "We all wanna find the bones, right? We just thought . . . it would go faster if we all worked together."</p><p>               The two pretenders exchange looks, mulling it over between them for a drawn-out moment of silent pros-and-cons weighing before the one pretending to be Sam said, "Ahem, we . . . ah . . . we get the sizzler gift card," like it was of the utmost importance, worth their combined weight in gold.</p><p>               Rolling his eyes, Dean agreed irritably, "Fine," more than ready for this conversation to move onto something more productive, like grave desecrating, no doubt, knowing him as she was coming to. </p><p>               "And we get to be Sam and Dean," fake Dean was quick to add into the deal, sharing a conspiringly eager look with his friend, with the two of them all but squirming in their seats like two overgrown kids on Christmas morning.</p><p>               "Fine," Dean snapped through gritted teeth, causing Sandy to pat his arm to stop him from just snapping and ripping the damn map from the now smug fake-Dean, whispering a congratulatory "Yes!" to himself. </p><p>               And with that decision, they were all up on their feet, drinks forgotten as fake-Dean, who they soon learned was actually called Demian, assigning fake roles for the rest of them to play. After a quick trip out to Baby's truck, Dean and Sam had been hilariously dubbed Rufus and Bobby, while Sandy got to play Castiel, though never she nor her brothers were even remotely taking the effort to play into Demian and Barnes' roleplaying games.</p><p>               Barnes, as fake-Sam, led the way out of the hotel, reading from the map, while Sandy, Dean and Sam followed along behind them, prompting Demian to turn back to ask that they, "Hey - Rufus, Bobby, Cas - would you guys hurry it up?"</p><p>               "Are you all right?" Sam asked cautiously, pointedly ignoring the two idiots leading the treasure hunt, as he watched Dean silently fume between him and Sandy.</p><p>               "I'm trying to be," Dean muttered, glaring unwaveringly at the back of fake-Dean's head as he yapped on.</p><p>               "So, where were we?" Barnes asked of Demian, having lost his place in their little role-playing game momentarily. </p><p>               "Ah, Dr Ellicott had just zapped your brain - 1.10 Asylum," Demian readily answered, getting a nod and a murmur of, "Right, got it", from Barnes, before he cleared his throat and got himself back into character, "Why are we even here, Dean? You just following dad's footsteps like a good little soldier? You that desperate for approval?"</p><p>               <em>Harsh</em>, Sandy thought with a startled blink up at the man, right as Demian, now pretending once again to be Dean, shot back with, "This isn't you talking, Sam."</p><p>               It was at that moment, as they mock old-hurts of Sam and Dean's lives, completely unaware of the real pain behind such words, that Dean turned imploringly to Sam, with a 'How much do we have to put up with' look; while Sam could only continue to frown at the other two men's backs.</p><p>               "See, that's the difference between you and me," Barnes said as Sam, unknowingly rubbing salt into their wounds, "I got a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic."</p><p>               "So, what are ya' going to do, Sam?" Demian continued the scene as Dean, throwing his own figurative salt into the mix, "Are you going to kill me?"</p><p>               "Man, I am so sick of you telling me what to do," fake-Sam exclaimed in frustration, sounding not unlike a petulant child, which in turn caused the real Sam's left under-eye to twitch in growing irritation of his own. </p><p>               "All right, you know what? That's it," the real Dean growled, hands getting thrown up in his anger, bringing them all to an abrupt stop, "That is it!"</p><p>               "What's wrong, Bobby," Demian asked turning around to face them still in character, unintentionally adding more fuel to Dean's already blazing fire.</p><p>               So angry that he couldn't even speak for a moment, Dean glared hard down at fake-him, finally managing to get out between gritted teeth, "I'm <em>not</em> Bobby, ok?" before turning to Barnes, adding, "You're <em>not</em> Sam." Before turning back Demian, with a judging finger pointing right at him, "You're <em>not</em> Dean. What is <em>wrong</em> with you? Why in the hell would you choose to be these guys, huh?"</p><p>               Thankfully for all involved, Barnes reverted back to his normal voice, sharing a confused look with Damian before saying lowly, "Because we're fans . . . Like you."</p><p>               "No," Dean rebuffed harshly, as he stepped right up to them angrily, "I am <em>not</em> a fan, ok - Not fans - In fact, I think that the Dean and Sam's story <em>sucks</em>. It is not <em>fun</em>. It is not <em>entertaining</em>. It is a river of crap that would send most people howling to the nuthouse. So you listen to me. Their pain is not for your amusement. I mean, do you think they enjoy being treated like . . . like circus <em>freaks</em>?"</p><p>               "Uh . . ." Demian shared another confused look with Barnes, before exclaiming in defence, hands held up in the universal sign for surrender, "I don't think they care; because they're <em>fictional</em> characters!"</p><p>               "Oh, they care," Dean insisted on a growl, seeming not to care about just how crazy he was making himself look in that moment, as he spoke his truth, "Believe me, they <em>care</em>, a lot."</p><p>               And with that said, Dean snatched the map out of Demian's hands and stormed off down the path ahead of them, leaving them all staring after him in dumbfounded surprise. Demian and Barnes turned back to Sam and Sandy seeking an explanation, but only once Dean's form was all but gone from sight, with a 'what the fuck' look firmly fix upon their confused faces.</p><p>               Sharing a weighted look with Sandy, Sam turned to face them, trying to explain their brother's actions away, "He . . . uh . . . he takes the story really seriously."</p><p>               And with that simply put with a dismissive shrug to his ridiculously large shoulders, Sam followed in Dean's wake, prompting the rest of them to do so also. Which ended with them, an hour and a half later, once again in Dean's sorry company, scanning the located cemetery's gravestones with their flashlights in search of Leticia Gore's name. </p><p>               "I found the four boys," Dean called out, <em>finally</em>, with his flashlight flicking between four small headstones with a pitying eye. </p><p>               "And here's Leticia Gore," Sam added from a little ways away, causing Dean to look up, while Demian and Barnes continued to tip-toe around the edge of the cemetery, shining their torches into bushes for some unknown reason or another.</p><p>               Tapping Dean's arm to get his attention, Sandy motioned to the two bush-huggers, getting a confused frown from Dean to join her own, with him giving voice to her burning question of, "Ah . . . what are you guys doing?"</p><p>               Once again back in character, Demian shot Dean an irritated look, saying snidely, "We're looking for bones, genius. They gotta be around here somewhere."</p><p>               "Okay," Dean said, with his eyes narrowing in response to Demian's less-than respectful tone, as Samm dumped his bag of grave-desecrating-goodies on the ground before him, "Generally, bones are in the ground."</p><p>               Still sticking with the role-playing thing, Demian said in mock of Dean's deep voice, while eyeing the shovels Sam was now pulling out of his bag, "Yeah, I know that. I just . . . <em>Wait</em>, hold on. Are you guys serious?"</p><p>               "Deadly," Dean said in perfect deadpan, as he took one of the shovels from Sam, handing off his torch to Sandy. </p><p>               "We're not really digging up graves you guys," Barnes laughed nervously, with a panicked edge to his voice, as he shared another 'what the fuck?' look with Demian, "We're just playing a game."</p><p>               "Trust us," Dean reassured with what had to be the least comforting snort in history, as his shovel pierced the ground, "You wanna win the game, right?"</p><p>               The magic words needed to pacify their new friends into silence, allowing Dean to dig out the grave without being needlessly provoked by their game, while Sandy and the others stood around the grave shining their torches for him to see what the hell he was doing. Sam had offered to take a turn with him at digging, but Dean refused, no doubt wanting to be doing anything other than standing up top with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.</p><p>               When his shovel finally hit the coffin, Dean handed it off to Sam, before moving to lift the lid a grunt of exertion, revealing a skeleton.</p><p>               Demian and Sandy gag in tandem at the foul smell, with him voicing through his grimace, "That's not a plastic skeleton. That's a . . . that's a <em>skeleton</em>, skeleton."</p><p>               "You just dug up a real grave," Barnes panicked, hands shooting up to cover his mouth in horror.</p><p>               Still in the grave, Dean smiled up at them, clearly delighting in their distress, the sadistic bastard. "Yeah."</p><p>               "You guys are nuts," Demian decided, backing away, and pulling Barnes with him.</p><p>               "I thought you guys wanted to be hunters," Sam asked mercilessly, voice dead serious as he watched the other men freak out, clearly just as sadistic as their brother.</p><p>               "Hunters aren't <em>real</em>, man," Demian screeched out, eyes wide and alight with alarm, "<em>This</em> isn't real."</p><p>               "My God," Barnes exclaimed, as he and Demian walked away in a rush, throwing over his shoulder, "You guys have seriously lost your grip on this!"</p><p>               With a silent scream, Sandy was the only one to react to the sight of an honest to God ghost appearing behind Sam, of whom was still unaware, at least until he took a curious note of Sandy's extreme reaction with a startled expression of his own. But what can she say, it wasn't every day you see someone make an attempt to run away backwards, landing them with a jarring thump into a six-foot hole, after all.</p><p>               Sandy was blind to what was going on up top as she lay in the open coffin, momentarily dazed, before she turned to shove at what was stabbing her in the back. With a groan, as Dean moved to help her, Sandy realised for the first time exactly where she had landed. Which in turn only succeed in freaked her out all the more, with her arms flying around like pin-wheels, as she tried desperately to part herself from the corpse as quickly as she could, silently screaming all the while.</p><p>               "What?" Sam asked nervously, before slowly turning around to see what it was that had freaked her so spectacularly the fuck out for himself.</p><p>               "Naughty, naughty, naughty!" Gore's voice sounded, right as Dean finally succeeded in lifting Sandy out of the grave, before climbing swiftly out after her with a grunt with the effort of it.</p><p>               But not quick enough to spare Sam getting backhanded across the cemetery first. Demian and Barnes let out the gut-curling screams that Sandy wished she could, before turning tail and wisely running away, just like any sane thinking person would have in their shoes. But before they could get too far, Barnes tripped and fell on his face, bring Demian loyally to a stop and a shout of, "Barnes!"</p><p>               Seeing Dean shooting into action, rummaging in his duffel, Sandy crawled up to his side, pulling out the salt while he grabbed the burn materials. Flicking a concerned look over her shoulder, Sandy saw Demian pull Barnes to his feet, but before they could attempt to run again Gore was in front of them, prompting them to scream and grab hold of each other.</p><p>               "Oh my God!!" Demian shouted in fright, almost in perfect sync with another one of Gore's chants of, "Naughty, naughty, naughty!!" as she pushed a fisted hand right into each of their chests, drawing twin screams from the two men.</p><p>               With a panicked breathe, Sandy turned back to the grave, pouring the salt generously over the ghost's skeleton, tossing the canister aside as she scampered back, making room for Dean to light the bitch up. He was right there at the ready, quickly pouring kerosene over the top of the bones, while simultaneously reaching into his jean's pocket for his lighter, flicking it alight before then tossing it into the grave in one smooth movement.</p><p>               Gore screamed as she burns up, leaving Demian and Barnes to stare down at the place where she had just stood, both panting erratically. Sandy paid them no more mind, as she climbed shakily to her feet and tore across the small cemetery, helping Sam as he lifted himself unsteadily to his feet. He tried to weakly bat her hands away, as she stubbornly pulled on the lapels of his overshirt to bring him down to her level, so she could inspect his head for wounds. He was bleeding a little, but not enough to cause too much fuss, so she allowed him to pry her hands free, of which he did with the utmost gentleness and a brief kiss to the crown of her head in parting.</p><p>               Turning to face the now trembling Demian and Barnes, who stood frozen, still clinging frightenedly against one another, Dean asked spitefully, "Real enough for you?" getting twin looks of pure horror from the two men in silent response.</p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. CH14, And So The Plot Thickens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>               <strong>F</strong>or the third time that day, Sandy found herself back in the hotel bar, though given the shock they had had, Sady couldn't rightly blame Demian for his insistence of needing a stiff drink to chase his shock away. In fact, had she believed her brothers would have allowed it, Sandy would have demanded a shot of her own too. </p><p>               "That was . . ." Barnes floundered for words, staring wide-eyed at the wall of the bar, still very much in shock, " . . . really . . ."</p><p>               "Awful," Dean snorted in dry amusement, as he took a shot of his own, before poring him and Demian another, as he slapped Barnes on the shoulder in a weak attempt at comfort, "Right? Round's on us guys."</p><p>               "How'd you know how to do all that?" Demian dared to ask of them, though he didn't particularly sure that he actually wanted to know truthfully. </p><p>               "We . . . uh . . . We read the books," Sam offered weakly with a shrug, prompting Dean to nod in agreement before he stood up from his stool, leading her and Sam cross the room to where Chuck was standing with the convention manager.</p><p>               "Hey, Chuck," Dean greeted in mock cheer, before adding, "Good luck with the Supernatural books, and screw you very much," before turning and walking away, parting in a piss-poor goodbye for a friend if Sandy ever did see one. Not that she was complaining, if they got on the road now, they could be back at Bobby's by late-morning tomorrow, and maybe then they could have a belated birthday dinner together, just like she had so desperately wanted to begin with. </p><p>               But given their truly terrible luck when the supernatural was involved, Sandy honestly couldn't even find it in herself to be too shocked that the main doors were shown to be firmly locked up tight from the outside.</p><p>               "That's weird," Dean undersold, as he and Sam pushed against the doors together, before giving up and turning to look around the room to the sound of Sam's equally unfitting agreement of, "Definitely."</p><p>               What followed was the three of them splitting up, and by that she meant Sam and Dean splitting up, and then rock-paper-scissoring it to see which one of them was stuck with her tagging along with them like a lost duckling - Dean lost. But given that Dean always seems to throw out scissors, despite knowing that Sam will then, in turn, throw out rock, smashing his scissors every time, Sandy wasn't too bothered by the delegation of the burden of babysitting her useless ass - clearly, he had all but picked to be the one to put up with her tagging along, of which she did so happily. </p><p>               And together, they checked their half of all the possible ground floor exits, finding no luck in that endeavour. Which was how Sam found them half an hour later, with Dean straining to open a window vainly, while Sandy snapped a picture of his strained-purple face for Bobby. He had asked her how her birthday was going . . . and really, words did not do that particular shade of purple any justice, plus, she knew the old man would get a kick out of it. </p><p>               "Hey," Dean greeted, as Sam approached, relenting in his fruitless attempts to find freedom, "Anything?"</p><p>               "Every exit's locked," Sam informed them, "Almost like . . ."</p><p>               "<em>Something's keeping us in?</em>" Sandy suggested with a series of hand motions, getting an agreeing nod from Dean, as he knocked his fist against the window in frustration.</p><p>               "Yeah," Sam added his own agreement to the mix, "This is bad."</p><p>               "Gee, ya think, Sammy?" Dean snorted in dry amusement, all but rolling his eyes at his brother for stating the obvious.</p><p>               But before more could be said on the matter, a woman's scream sounded, startling them all as the high-pitched sound echoed around the cavernous hotel halls. Sam and Dean shot off running without hesitation, with Sandy reluctantly following suit with definite hesitation on her part, half a second or two behind them - damn their superior leg length and damn stairs in general! By the time Sandy came to a stop, Dean already had an armful of damsel-in-distress, the same woman from earlier, the one dressed as Gore. </p><p>               "Don't go in there!" The woman cried, pointing to the room behind her, fear very real in her wide and wet eyes.</p><p>               "Get downstairs, okay?" Dean ordered of her gently, all but pushing her down the hallway leading to the main stairwell, "Go, go!"</p><p>               The room turned out to be a library, a beautiful one at that, that she was sure would have captivated Sam, had their full attention not been firmly fixed upon the small crouched form of Gore's son sitting in the corner of the room, holding his head just as he had done in the attic, only looking far more stressed than he had been before. </p><p>               "Why'd you do that?" The boy demanded on a fearful whisper, "Why did you send my mommy away?"</p><p>               "Ah, maybe because of the high and tight she gave you, huh?" Dean asked, shooting the kid a peeved look at his supposed ungratefulness, "How bout some thanks."</p><p>               "Ahem," Sam pointedly cleared his throat, clearly of the mind <em>not</em> to be actively pissing off any ghosts, no matter how small and non-threatening the ghost may seem. </p><p>               "Well," Dean defended his tone, "I'm just saying a little gratitude might be nice once in a while."</p><p>               "My mommy didn't do this to me," the boy insisted, drawing them all up short. </p><p>               "What?" Sam was the one to ask, blinking down at the boy's flickering form in confusion, "Then who did?"</p><p>               But before an answer could be given, the boy disappeared, leaving them with an unsettled stone in all of their bellies - because if Gore wasn't the murderer . . . then who was?</p><p>               "Great," Dean threw his hand up again for the hundredth time that night alone, "So who the hell is the real killer then? Because this is turning into a game of Cluedo, a whole mystery 'Mrs Peacock' with the candlestick in the library situation, only with us having to play it with a captive audience of wannabes."</p><p>               He wasn't wrong, some of the guests were already proving to be a problem for them, and now that they needed to put more active efforts into ganking the ghosties, they couldn't afford any more civilians getting in the way. And while, ordinarily, Sandy would consider herself part of that grouping, at least when it came to hunting, she knew she couldn't go and wait in Baby for her brothers to deal with the problem for her. She had put herself into this situation, she had snuck away from the safety of Bobby and followed them here, all without the training that Sam had been insisting that she would need one day - so really, what right did she have to play the chicken card right now when she had oh-so freely walking right into this mess?  </p><p>               "<em>How are we gonna' keep the other guests away?</em>" Sandy wondered, hands flying, causing Dean to give her a minor frown of confusion before she repeated the motion slower for him, while Sam already made to answer her question.</p><p>               "The event pamphlet Becky gave me said that Chuck is gonna' be holding a Q&amp;A in the auditorium for the next two hours," Sam informed, as he checked his watch to be sure, giving himself a little nod, "That should give us enough time, I reckon."</p><p>                <em>Only two hours?</em>  Sandy thought doubtfully, they didn't even have a lead right now, since they'd gone and ganked Gore thinking she was the baddy without questioning her first. But Dean seemed content with that time limit, once again leading the way out of the room, while Sandy tried not to doubt her brothers experience on the matter. </p><p>               "Sammy, you go give Chuck a heads up, tell him to keep everyone in the auditorium," Dean ordered of their brother, as they made their way back down the main stairwell, "While me and Sandy will herd the staff in there too."</p><p>               "Good idea," Sam agreed, already splitting off towards the large auditorium doors, while Dean placed a hand on Sandy's upper back, leading her toward the front of the hotel. </p><p>               And together, with Sandy's innocent face and Dean's no-nonsense approach to literally ordering complete strangers about, they managed to get any and every staff member they had come across to listen to them, though the hotel manager they were currently herding was putting up the most resistance so far. But again, Dean was not to be deterred, opening the door and forcefully ushered the staff inside, protesting manager included.</p><p>               "Buddy, I got work to do," the hotel manager tried to step around Dean, but Dean wasn't having it, prompting him to step right up into the manager's way, startling him back a step in surprise.</p><p>               "You're gonna' want to see this, trust me," Dean insisted, as he moved on to help with the last staff member that Sandy had been trying to herd in on her own, the now pissed off looking ghost actor lady, "It's gonna' be a hell of a show."</p><p>               When finally their task was done and Sam had rejoined them, Dean closed doors, while Sam and Sandy began laying a salt layer of protection along the seams of them. </p><p>               "Okay, new theory," Dean stepped back, hands going to his hips, as his face painted into a deep thinking expression, "The legends about Leticia are ass-backwards obviously."</p><p>               "Yeah," Sam agreed, dropping his now empty salt bag to the rich red carpet carelessly, of which Sandy was more hesitant to do so too, if only because it felt like littering, which was silly given what they were currently facing. "So, all right, let's say those three orphans were playing cowboys and Indians."</p><p>               "LARPing as cowboys and Indians," Dean snarked, getting a snort from Sandy, and her a wink back in response to it. </p><p>               "Whatever," Sam sighed, clearly not finding their brother as amusing as she did, "And let's say they scalped Leticia's son and killed him."</p><p>               "<em>That makes an uncomfortable and truly horrifying amount of sense</em>," Sandy signed with a grimace.</p><p>               "Mom catches 'em in the act -" Dean contained Sam's thought with an agreeing nod, seeing the sense in the theory just as Sandy could, "- flips out, slices them, and then dices herself."</p><p>               "If that's true," Sam pointed out, "It means we've got three bloodthirsty brats in the building."</p><p>               "<em>Yeah</em>," Sandy signed, summarising for them all just how much they had fucked up with her next statement, "<em>And Leticia was the only one keeping them under control</em>."</p><p>               "Smooth move on our part," Sam agreed with a grimace of his own. </p><p>               "Yeah, well we gotta get back to the cemetery," Dean dismissed their serious error with a wave of his hand, "Torch the kids' bones."</p><p>               "How? We're trapped, we don't even have our guns!" Sam argued in frustration, though whether that stemmed from Dean's blaze refusal to accept responsibility for their mistakes, or because of the fact that they couldn't very well do that, not when, "The ghosts are running this joint and they're only scared of one thing."</p><p>               Eyes lighting up, Dean pointed a finger at Sam excitedly, exclaiming, "Exactly", before he rushed back into the auditorium.</p><p>               Hoping that Sam would have some idea as to what their brother meant by that exclamation, Sandy looked up at him, only to find him looking just as lost as she was in that moment. But before they could even begin to ask each other their thoughts on what had gotten their brother so jazzed, Dean came rushing back out, ghost actor lady being dragged out along behind him.</p><p>               "You want me to do what?" The woman demanded in a harsh panicked whisper, as Dean released her arm, turning to close the auditorium doors once more, all without messing up their salt line.</p><p>               "You're an actress," Dean reasoned, "We just want you to act."</p><p>               "I work at Hooters, in Toledo," the woman rushed to rebuff his claims, hands coming up to her chest in her earnest efforts to dismiss the thought that she might be able to help them in some way, "No, you can forget it."</p><p>               "You'll be safe, we promise," which was a promise Sandy knew that Sam couldn't actually vow to keep, no matter how sincerely he said it or believed it to be, sometimes the chips fell where they may, "This is really important."</p><p>               Before more could be said to convince the woman, a hand dropped on Dean's shoulder, with Demian insisting that "We wanna help."</p><p>               With a groan, Dean shot Sam an exasperated look, "Just give her the puppy dog thing, okay?" Before then turned to Demian and Barnes, rebuffing them soundly with a simple but firm, "Guys, <em>no</em>."</p><p>               "Why not?" Barnes asked in confusion as if it wasn't more than obvious already as to why they might not want him and Demian helping, it was bad enough that that they had to babysit Sandy, let alone two grown men on top of it too.</p><p>               "Cause this isn't make-believe," Dean snapped, of which didn't seem to deter the men, not one bit.</p><p>               "Look, we know," Demian insisted earnestly, holding his hands up placatingly, "We're not nuts. We're freakin' <em>terrified</em>."</p><p>               "Yeah," Barnes got courage from his friend's insistence, placing a hand upon Demian's shoulder in agreement, "But if all these people are seriously in trouble, we gotta do something."</p><p>               "Why?" Dean asked, genuinely stumped by their insistence, for him it was simple, he did what he did because it was the only life he had ever known. But Demian and Barnes had a choice, and yet, they were choosing to help out anyway, no matter how afraid they both <em>clearly</em> were to do so.</p><p>               "Because," Demian floundered for a moment, sharing a look with Barnes that said 'isn't it already obvious?', before he stated with conviction, "That's what Sam and Dean would do."</p><p>               <em>Well, they couldn't very well argue against that, now could they?</em> Sandy mused with an arched brow, as she watched Dean relent with a tired huff of breathe, shooting the two men a peeved glare even as he kept his mouth shut from rebuttal.</p><p>                "<em>Alright then</em>," Sandy signed, snapping her fingers first to get the focus turned upon her, "<em>What's the plan then?</em>"</p><p>               "What was that?" Demian asked as he frowned down at her hands with a new light, having only just realised that he hadn't actually heard her talk or seen how she talks with her hands until that moment, "What did she say?"</p><p>               "That we need a plan," Sam translated, before meeting eyes with Dean, doing that silent communication thing that they do with each other, "I think you should go distract the ghosts, while the rest of us use that distraction to try and find a way out of here, and burn their bones."</p><p>               "Yeah, good idea," Dean nodded in agreement, before turning to point a warning finger at Sandy, startling her with his intense eyes locked upon her own now wide ones, "And you, sweetheart, are to stay out of trouble, you hear me? You see a ghost, don't be hero, use the damn good sense that I know you didn't get from our dad and run the hell away - you got it?"</p><p>               Batting his finger away playfully, with the startings of an affectionate smile curving up her lips, she nodded her head in agreement, if only to appease his worrying somewhat. "<em>I will duck and cover, big brother, have no worry</em>."</p><p>               "That's my girl," Dean laughed softly, pulling her into him via a comforting hand upon her shoulder, before laying the sweetest of kisses upon the crown of her golden head.</p><p>               He didn't waste any more time after that, never one for 'chick-flick' moments if he could help it, leaving them in favour of leading a reluctant actress away down the hall. And with a prompting hand placed upon her shoulder, Sam led her and their group away in the other direction, towards the hotel's main doors. </p><p>               They gave Dean fifteen minutes to draw the ghosties' out before they attempted to force the doors open, with all four of them throwing their combined weights against them, which refused to budge more than an inch.</p><p>               "Push it!" Sam encouraged, as the doors started to give a little more, parting down the middle, "Go, go, go!"</p><p>               Sandy, being the smallest, was unsurprisingly the first to squeeze on out, before being immediately followed by Barnes and Demian. But as Sandy turned back to help push the door open so Sam could come threw, the doors slammed shut, damn near taking Barnes' fingers with it. </p><p>               "Sam!" Damien shouted in tandem with Sandy's silent shout, but the wooden door was too thick to hear anything more than Sam's muted shout of "Damn it!" back in kind.</p><p>               "Oh my God," Barnes panicked, "What do we do now?!"</p><p>               Steeling her own internal panic for the moment, Sandy took a deep breath, before tugging at the arm of Demian's jacket pointedly. His wide eyes locked on her own, fleeting between fear to determination, as he nodded down her saying, "She's right."</p><p>               "Who's right?" Barnes demanded looking around before his eyes too settled upon Sandy with a frown, "You mean <em>she's</em> right? She didn't even say anything, Demian - she's <em>mute</em>, damn it!"</p><p>               "She didn't <em>need</em> to say anything, but that doesn't mean she isn't right," Demian reasoned before he straightened his shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident than he actually felt inside, "Come on, we've got bones to burn."</p><p>               Given the time crunch and the fact that they had three bad ghosts to gank between them, it only made sense that they each took a grave to dig, using the tools Sam had left behind the last time they were, no doubt with the mind to come back and collect them later. It was a lot harder than Sandy had given Dean credit for, he had looked to be barely bothered by the task at all, and yet here she was, sweating like a pig and with arms of jelly.</p><p>               "Oh my God," Barnes groaned out aloud, pausing to throw his head back in defeat, "Supernatural makes digging graves seem so easy. It's <em>not, </em>though. I'm gonna' throw up!"</p><p>               Sandy was in full agreement, as her arms shook in protest, but Demian on the other hand, was unrelenting in his determination to get the job done, insisting without pausing himself, "No, you're not."</p><p>               So with that so encouragingly put, Barnes returned to his digging, with another groan and eyes just shy of actual tears. But thankfully enough, no matter how sick to her stomach it made Sandy feel to be thankful for, the graves were small and therefore didn't take nearly as long as it had for Dean to dig up Gore. Even still, Sandy was the last to finish her hole, with a tired flop to the side beside it, right into a pile of dirt, Sandy's body screamed in protest to anymore movement. </p><p>               Clearly still rolling on his determination momentum, Demian stepped around her limp form, fishing out burn-supplies from Sam's duffle bag, handing them off to Barnes, as he took a flip-lighter in hand with a triumphant grin. Finally crawling up to her feet with a serious effort on her part, Sandy took the salt from Barnes, before turning back to the graves, salting them as quickly as she could while Barnes followed suit with a can of lighter fluid. </p><p>               "How come Dean can always light the stupid thing on the first freaking try?" Demian complained as he flickered his lighter, failing to get it to flare, "Come on!!!"</p><p>               Grabbing it from his hand, Sandy snapped the pad of her thump smoothly down the rough-surfaced wheel with enough pressure to result in an instant spark, much to Demian's grumble of displeasure. Wasting no more time, grabbed a stick from the ground, holding it against the flame until it caught alight, before then tossing it into the first of the three graves, before moving onto the next to do the same. </p><p>               Once the last grave caught alight, Sandy allowed herself a moment to let out a relieved breath, knowing that her brothers were now safe, until . . . that is, her tired eyes fell onto the last grave on the end, the one belonging to the poor scalped boy. He was alone now, she realised with enough heartache to cause the organ to shutter in her chest, all because of them. </p><p>               She couldn't just leave him . . . </p><p>               With a silent curse, followed by a whimper of exhaustion, Sandy bent to collect her shovel, before stomping her way over to the little boy's grave - because the job wasn't yet done. No kid should be forcibly separated from their mother, not even in death, and certainly not on Sandy's watch. She could hear Demian demanding to known what she was doing, with Barnes insisting that they had dealt with the bad ghosts already, but she ignored them as she dug her shovel into the cold and resisting earth. </p><p>               She wasn't even halfway done by the time Dean and Sam rejoined them, but unlike Demian and Barnes, they understood her desire to finish the job; with Sam even taking the shovel from her cramping hands to take over for her, while Dean lifted her gently from the hole. </p><p>               By the time the job was truly done and dusted, the morning's light was just peeking over the treetops, revelling just how dirty they all were from their eventful night spent grave-desecrating and ghost hunting. But thankfully, once they had returned to the hotel and informed Chuck that the ghosts were all dealt with, Becky had kindly allowed Sandy to use her room to clean up in, while Dean and Sam used Chucks. </p><p>               But despite her ready kindness in the form a delightfully hot shower, Sandy still couldn't find it in herself to actually like Becky all that much, the girl was still undeniably crazier than a bag of feral cats. So when they had finally escaped her, and by we, she meant Sam, who quite literally had to peel the clinging girl off of him, Sandy was more than happy to call it a day. </p><p>               Demian had managed to slyly hide the entirety of the Supernatural book series in her backpack for her, more than eager to conspire with another potential fan, after finding a pleading note from her in his pocket. It made her bag ridiculously heavy, no joke, but Sandy couldn't exactly pass it off to one of her brothers without prompting questions on why it weighed so damn much, to begin with. </p><p>               But it was a price to pay for knowledge, especially when her brothers were so cagey about their past, giving her only the barest of cliff notes - Sandy <em>hated</em> their evasive cliff notes. Which was why she was taking action now, with the aid of Demian and his hubby (because seriously, talk about relationship goals), and a bag full of books, because as they say, 'If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain'. </p><p>               "You ok?" Sam asked as he finally joined them, taking note of the way Dean laid back against the side of Baby with a slight smile upon his handsome face, clearly lost in thought; while Sandy went about dumping her bag into the trunk, far away from their prying eyes.</p><p>               "Yeah, you know?" Dean's smile grew wider and softer at the edges, "I think I'm good."</p><p>               "Well, you're not going to believe it," Sam smiled back in kind, eyes eager and twinkling with hope, "But I got a lead on the Colt."</p><p>               "What?" Dean frown in surprised confusion, as he pushed up from the car, right as an eager Sandy rejoined them, feeding on Sam's excitement like it was her own.</p><p>               With the Colt in hand, Dean might not need to become Micheal's vessel to gank the Devil, which the Angels were insisting was the only way to do it, which was defiantly something worth getting hopeful about in her opinion. </p><p>               "Long story," Sam smiled happily, as he rounded the impala to climb in the passenger side, "I'll tell you on the way?"</p><p>               "What are we waiting for then?" Dean smiled back just as happy, moving to hold the driver's side door open so Sandy could slide on in ahead of him, right on into the middle, which was quickly becoming her seat.</p><p>               All packed in Baby and doors slammed close behind them, Dean cruised out of the car park, while Sam began his story, with Sandy fishing around the glove box for the right cassette to play in the background. It wasn't the best birthday she had ever had, she wouldn't lie, but it wasn't half bad either. She got to see her brothers in action, saving people and kicking ass, and that was a pretty cool birthday gift if she did say so herself, plus the whole of the Supernatural series too. </p><p>               Not to mention, Sandy was pretty badass herself, and just maybe she won't have to smuggle herself in the trunk of Baby to tag along next time. </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. CH15, A Pie Making Zombie, Now I've Seen It All.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know, I know, there is a lot of time-jumping in this fic, but I gotta keep the story moving somehow, especially since Sandy isn't part of the main action with her brothers because she isn't yet a trained hunter capable of holding her own. Just bear with me guys, because I have a fixed story-outline in mind, which will bring Sandy front and centre with her brothers sooner rather than later, I just gotta get her to the end of season 5 first.</p>
<p>P.S. sorry this chapter took forever and a day to get posted! Thanks for reading, and please do leave a comment as they are very encouraging, and I just adore them and you for taking the time to leave one! x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, S05E15</strong>
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<p> </p>
<p>            <strong> S</strong>o . . . the idea of Sandy possibly tagging along with her brothers and being passably welcome while she did so, was nothing more than a pipedream at best, and a source of bothersome amusement for said brothers at worst.</p>
<p>             Dean had point-blank refused to even entertain her tagging along with them on one of their cases, even going so far as to demand that Bobby lock her in the panic-room if he even suspects for a moment that she might be looking a little flighty, while Sam had only insisted (with the utmost gentleness, of course) that she should train-up first. </p>
<p>             Which was exactly how she got left alone with Bobby, just like every other time a case popped up for her brothers, right as freaking The Walking Dead became an actual real-life situation, with pie-making Walkers and all. And true to his promise to Dean, Bobby had threatened to lock her ass in the panic-room, though not for the reasons that Dean had decided was acceptable, all to keep his undead wife a sordid secret from her stab-happy hunter brothers. </p>
<p>             Not that she rightly blamed him for his caution, Dean and Sam, especially Dean, were the 'shoot first and ask questions later' kinda' men - but given their line of work that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But that didn't justify him losing all sense of reason and logic, playing house with his <em>dead</em> wife like it was just like any other day, because, hunter or not, it was <em>far</em> from normal. </p>
<p>             He'd even gone so far as to take her damn phone from her, which was why Sam and Dean had come knocking now, after a week of radio silence from her, because Sandy spoke to one or both of them every night via video chat or text. <em>Every</em> night - without fail. Bobby knew this, on some level, he must have known that this confrontation was coming, sooner or later, which was why she had waited patiently all week, knowing just as he had that her brothers would be coming home and that his continued dodging of their calls had probably only succeeded in lighting the proverbial fire beneath their asses.</p>
<p>             And by 'patiently' what she really meant was 'pacing her room's lengths endlessly and pointedly avoiding Karen as often as she possibly could', she was a zombie after all, and Sandy hadn't yet determined whether brains were on the menu for the woman yet or not; figuring that it was simply better to be save rather than sorry later. She seemed like a nice lady, but then again, not-Adam had <em>seemed</em> like a nice guy at first too. </p>
<p>             "You know how many times we've called?!" Dean demanded of Bobby right off the bat, as the latter had no choice but to let them into his home. It had been months since either she or Bobby had last seen them in person and nearing a week since she had last spoken to them via phone, so Dean's anger and worry weren't misplaced, a fact of which had Bobby pointedly not meeting the accusing eyes of her brothers. "Where have you been, huh?"</p>
<p>             "Playing murderball," Bobby dead-panned glibly, as he rolled his way into the living room, wherein Sandy shot up from her armchair, final Supernatural book in the series (so far) getting tossed aside in favour of throwing herself into Dean's waiting arms. </p>
<p>             Dean caught her with ease, lifting her off her feet as he held her against him, giving just as much strength to the hug as she gave him. He just held her there, dangling from his arms, with his face buried in her golden hair, just taking a moment to breathe her in and know that she was safe. It made Sandy feel more loved and cared for in that one moment than she had in a <em>long</em> while, a feeling that only continued to grow as he set her aside so that Sam could take his turn, all but charging across the room to scoop her into his gigantic embrace. And just like their brother, Sam lifted Sandy clean off of her feet, drawing a silent giggle from her as he swung her around in a twirl playfully, before setting her sock-clad feet back down to the ground. He didn't release her though, not entirely, keeping her tucked warmly against his side, large arm curled about her dainty form, crowding her in the most comforting of ways.</p>
<p>             "What's <em>that</em> smell?" Dean asked curiously, nose turned up to sniff at the air, before turning disbelieving eyes upon Bobby's avoidant ones, "Is that soap? Did you <em>clean</em>?"</p>
<p>             "What are you, my mother?" Bobby growled in defence, skirting the questions entirely, "Bite me!"</p>
<p>             Seeing that he wasn't going to cop to it anytime soon, especially not if his shifty looks where anything to go by, Sandy snapped her fingers to get her brothers' collective attentions on her, completely ignoring Bobby's warning look of panic. She loved the man like a father, but he had taken her phone hostage, and that was a big no-no in the life of a teenage girl.</p>
<p>             "<em>People are coming back to life</em>,<em> it's like an episode of the freaking Walking Dean here, no joke,</em>" she signed rapidly before Bobby would interject, "<em>And Bobby's dead wife is one of them.</em>"</p>
<p>             "I'm sorry . . . what?" Dean asked in surprise, as he flicked his widened eyes over to Bobby, who point-blank refused to hold his gaze, "You <em>knew</em> about this? You want to tell us what the hell . . ." Dean started to demand, only to cut off by Karen walking in, wearing what Sandy was beginning to think of as her trademark apron, carrying a plate of food to the table in the dining room, visible from the living room's open doorway.</p>
<p>             "Oh, hey," Karen startled, with her gentle smile still firmly held in place, as she said to Bobby, "I didn't realize you were bringing company."</p>
<p>             "It’s four a.m., babe," Bobby's tough-guy exterior melted like an ice cream cone in the sun while addressing his late wife, "You didn't need to cook."</p>
<p>             "Oh, please," Karen dismissed his instance with a wave of her dainty hand and a smile, "I’ll get some more plates."</p>
<p>             "That's the dead wife I'm guessing?" Dean asked, as his sharp eyes followed Karen's form back into the kitchen, wherein she was quick to return from with more plates in hand. </p>
<p>             Sandy was sure it was only the distinct smell of freshly baked pie that kept Dean from taking action right away. Instead, he allowed himself to be herded by his nose to the table, there they all took their places upon Karen's assistance, as she went about loading their plates a mile high with the food she'd spent all day cooking. Though he did make it a point to keep Sandy firmly between him and Sam, the latter of whom hovered close, like an overgrown shadow cast purposefully between her and Karen - a protective stance of which did not go unnoticed by Bobby. </p>
<p>             Unsurprisingly, it was some of the best food that Sandy had ever tasted, just as everything else she'd been served since Karen's return, but it wasn't enough to lessen Sandy's caution - nor Sam's either, though Dean was certainly going a little weak in the knees from the pie alone. </p>
<p>             "This is incredible, Mrs Singer," he praised honestly, stuffing another forkful of pie into his mouth with a content hum. </p>
<p>             "Thank you, Dean," Karen smiled genuinely, pleased by Dean's clear enjoyment of her cooking skills. </p>
<p>             Looking up from his now empty plate, Dean met Sam's frown and pointed look head-on, shrugging as he asked defensively, "What? It is."</p>
<p>             "It's great, Karen, thanks," Bobby smiled softly up at his wife, catching her eye with a little head tilt towards the kitchen, "Could you, um, just give us a minute?"</p>
<p>             With an understanding smile, Karen left without issue or debate, while Bobby's own smile fell the moment he turned his gaze upon Dean's judging ones. "Are you crazy?" Dean demanded to know, voice a low whisper, and eyes trapping Bobby's unforgivingly, "What the hell, Bobby?"</p>
<p>             "Dean," Bobby signed, pulling his cap off to wipe his sleeve across his sweaty forehead in a show of genuine stress, before putting it back in place, "I can explain."</p>
<p>             "Explain what?" Dean demanded to know harshly, voice still lowly held between the four of them, as he continued his questioning, "Lying to us? Keeping Sandy from contacting us? Or the American girl zombie making cupcakes in your kitchen?!"</p>
<p>             "First of all," Bobby warned, a grubby finger coming up to point threateningly at Dean, as he snapped back with, "That's <em>my</em> wife, so watch it, boy."</p>
<p>             "Bobby, whatever that thing is in there," Sam tried to reason, voice taking on a soft approach to reason, as he pointed towards the kitchen with his thumb, "It is not your wife."</p>
<p>             "And how do you know that?" Bobby demanded, heaving hard as he glared between her brothers, prompting her to knock on the table to get his attention to swing her way.</p>
<p>             "<em>Because Karen is dead, Bobby</em>," Sandy signed, eyes glistening as she watched pain flicker in his own, hating that she had to say it, but knowing that she <em>had</em> to, someone <em>needed</em> to. </p>
<p>             "You think I'm an idiot, girl?" Bobby snapped at her, the first time ever in doing so, startling her back from the table in surprise, "My dead wife shows up on my doorstep, and you think I'm not gonna test her every way I ever learned?"</p>
<p>             "So what is it?" Dean asked, thankfully diverting the heat of Bobby's anger from her to him, "Zombies? Revenant?"</p>
<p>             "Hell if I can tell," Bobby relented with a tired sigh, anger seeping away into sadness, "She's got no scars, no wounds, no reaction to salt, silver, holy water . . ."</p>
<p>             "Bobby," Dean edged emphatically, "She <em>crawled</em> out of her coffin."</p>
<p>             "No, she didn't, I cremated her," Bobby denied, looking just as boggled by what he had said as her brothers now looked from hearing it, "Somehow, someway, she's back."</p>
<p>             "That's impossible," Sam argued with a disbelieving scoff.</p>
<p>             "Tell me about it," Bobby agreed, reaching across the table to claim his half-drunk beer bottle, taking a deep sip from it until only drips remained in the bottom. </p>
<p>             "You bury her ashes?" Sam started the interrogation of questions.</p>
<p>             "Yeah."</p>
<p>             "Where?" Dean demanded.</p>
<p>             "In the cemetery," Bobby sighed softly, sitting back in his wheelchair, clearly knowing exactly where Dean was going with his line of questioning, "That's where they all rose from."</p>
<p>             "How many?" Dean demanded next.</p>
<p>             "15, 20 - I made a list," Bobby offered, pulling said list out of his pocket, handing it off to Sam, "Uh, there's Karen . . . Clay . . . Sheriff Mills – her little boy came back."</p>
<p>             Sandy had met the boy several days ago, having had refused to remain in the house with Karen alone, because while she seemed like a lovely lady . . . she was still a very much <em>dead</em> lady. Owen was a sweet boy, and the whole time Sandy had sat on the living room floor of the Mills house playing bricks with him she had been hard-pressed to remember that he was technically dead, he had just seemed so animated and so very much alive. </p>
<p>             "And there were no signs?" Sam added his own questions to the mix, "No omens?"</p>
<p>             "Well, there were the lightning storms," Bobby suggested with a shrug before reciting from the Book of Revelation, "And through the fire stood before me a pale horse. And he that sat atop him carried a scythe, and I saw since he had risen, they, too, shall rise, and from him and through him."</p>
<p>             "So, what," Dean frowned, processing Bobby's words, "Death is behind this?"</p>
<p>             "<em>Death, Death?</em>" Sandy signed with a gaping mouth, hoping that Dean wasn't being literal, "<em>Like “Grim Reaper" death?</em>"</p>
<p>             "Yep, 'fraid so, I reckon," Bobby confirmed with a grim expression on his sourly mug.</p>
<p>             "Awesome," Dean grumbled irritably, settling back in his chair heavily, "Another horseman. Must be Thursday."</p>
<p>             "Bobby . . ." Sam frowned in a show of confusion, "Why would Death raise 15 people in a podunk town like Sioux Falls?"</p>
<p>             "I don't know," Bobby sighed with a shrug of his shoulders.</p>
<p>             "You know, if Death is behind this, then whatever these things are . . ." Dean said, pointedly not looking towards the kitchen, at least for poor Bobby's sake, "It's not good. You <em>know</em> what we have to do here."</p>
<p>             "She doesn't remember anything, you know," Bobby said distractedly, looking off towards the kitchen, where he could see Karen pottering around through the open doorway.</p>
<p>             "What do you mean?" Dean asked, not understanding Bobby's point. </p>
<p>             "Being possessed, me killing her . . ." Bobby explained with great sadness, still not looking at any of them, "Her coming back."</p>
<p>             "Bobby . . ." Dean breathed out pityingly, at a loss for what to say.</p>
<p>             "No, no, don't 'Bobby' me. Just . . . just <em>listen</em>, okay?" Bobby rebuffed Dean's sympathies, pointing towards the kitchen pointedly, where the off-key sounds of Karen's humming could be heard. "She hums when she cooks. She always . . . used to hum when she cooked. Tone-deaf as all hell, but . . . And I never thought I would hear it again. Look, just read Revelation. The dead rise during the apocalypse. There's nothing in there that says that's bad! Hell, maybe it's the one good thing that comes out of this whole bloody mess."</p>
<p>             "And what would you do if you were us?" Dean dared to ask the hard question.</p>
<p>             "I know what I'd do. And I know what you think you got to do," Bobby countered, "But. . . I'm begging you. Please. <em>Please</em>. Leave her be."</p>
<hr/>
<p>             <strong>T</strong>he rest of dinner was tense after that, how could it not be, they all knew this was only going to end in more heartache for Bobby, and yet they could do nothing without inflicting that heartache upon him themselves should they take the decision out of his hands. Which was why her brothers chose to do nothing, at least for the time being, meaning that Sandy had to deal with Dean sleeping on her bedroom floor in a bid to guard her - Sweet, but ultimately unnecessary considering that she had been living under the same roof as Karen for a week now, all without his valiant protection efforts. </p>
<p>             But after one night of that and Dean's snoring, Sandy was ready to smother the man with her pillow, which was why she had passive-aggressively suggested that Sam take a turn on her floor so that Dean didn't put his back out. Sam had known what she was up to, at least if his subtle attempts to stifle a laugh was anything to go by, so he thankfully didn't mount a protest at being demoted to the floor for the night. </p>
<p>             Sandy had just finished getting ready for bed, waiting for Sam to return from wherever it was he had gone to, all so that she could finally go to sleep without him waking her up with his Samsquatch sized feet creaking the ancient floorboards, only to be startled when she heard the angry charged voices of her brothers coming from down below. Tossing her hairbrush aside, Sandy climbed up off of her bed, sliding her feet into her white-boot-slippers as she went. </p>
<p>             "Keep your damn voices down," Bobby's voice could be heard, as he rolled his way passed her as she climbed down the stairs, following after him as he rolled his way into the living room, right between her brothers, "Karen's upstairs."</p>
<p>             "Oh, I'm sorry," Dean mock apologised, clearly too angry presently to continue walking on eggshells around Bobby, "We're a little <em>tense</em> right now. Who's old lady Jones?"</p>
<p>             "<em>She was the first one to come up</em>," Sandy informed before Bobby could, snapping her fingers first to get their attention, before following in a rapid flurry of hand movement that she was pleased to see that Dean didn't once frown down at in confusion.</p>
<p>             "And the first one to go bad," Sam remarked, seeing the disturbing pattern just as well as Sandy was starting to too. </p>
<p>             "Ah, she was always a nutty broad," Bobby tried to dismiss with the wave on his hand, even if his face did grow just that little bit paler. </p>
<p>             "Nutty how? Nutty like the way she <em>ate</em> her husband's stomach?" Dean snarked hostility back, hands going to his hips, as he glared unwaveringly down at an avoidant Bobby, "Was <em>that</em> the level of nutty she was in life?"</p>
<p>             "No," Bobby sighed, finally breaking away from Dean's judgemental gaze, as he looked dejectedly down at his lap.</p>
<p>             He knew exactly what they all did too, that sooner or later, Karen was going to turn bad just like old lady Jones just apparently had - he just wasn't ready to deal with it yet. And Sandy couldn't blame him, Karen was the love of his life, that much was clear as day. But sooner or later, someone was going to have to deal with Karen, before she hurt someone, of which Sandy honestly feared would be Bobby. She knew Bobby would be the one to insist on doing it, 'dealing' with her, he was stubborn and just as self-sacrificing as her brothers were when it came to those they loved. </p>
<p>             "Look, Bobby, I feel for you," Dean sighed, his anger deflating right out of him, despite refusing to budge on his stance, "But you have got to acknowledge that you're not exactly seeing this straight here."</p>
<p>             "Bobby, whether you admit it or not, these things are turning," Sam tried to convince, ever the voice of reason, all gentle and earnest like, "We have to stop them – <em>all</em> of them."</p>
<p>             Usually, that would be enough needed to make one of them see reason, having it so bluntly pointed out to them, but Bobby wasn't swayed by Sam and his wide sympathetic eyes. Instead, Bobby pulled out a gun and rested it on his lap, saying calmly that it was "Time to go".</p>
<p>             "What?" Dean asked in genuine surprise, taken aback by the sheer level of hostility radiating from the man who was like a second father to him. </p>
<p>             "You heard me," Bobby stated firmly, eyes hardening as her brothers just blinked down at him in wounded shock, "Off my property."</p>
<p>             "Or what?" Sam looked aghast, backing away to put himself between Bobby and Sandy, who honestly did not know what to make of this sudden and unprecedented turn of events, "You'll shoot?"</p>
<p>             "If Karen turns," Bobby said on a shaky exhale, "I will handle it <em>my</em> way."</p>
<p>             "This is dangerous," Dean insisted, resulting in Bobby cocking his gun in response, of which got Dean's eyes narrowing.</p>
<p>             "I'm not telling you twice," Bobby dismissed Dean's concerns swiftly.</p>
<p>             "Sandy," Dean addressed her, never once turning his eyes from Bobby and his gun, "Go pack a bag, sweetheart."</p>
<p>             Sandy didn't have to be told twice, she knew that there was no way Dean and Sam were gonna' be leaving without her, not when that meant leaving her with zombie Karen and a gun-happy Bobby. So, as much as she did not want to be leaving Bobby in his fragile mental state right now, she knew she didn't really have much of a choice on the matter. </p>
<p>             She took the stairs two at a time, not wanting to leave her brothers and Bobby alone together longer than was strictly necessary given the tension in the air, all but sliding her way down the hallway in her slippers. She didn't bother changing out of her sky-blue fleece pyjama bottoms, embellished with white cartoon clouds, nor her grey cami top - it would take too long. So, instead, Sandy just rushed over to her wardrobe, randomly selected a change of clothes, of which she carelessly shoved into a canvas backpack.  </p>
<p>             Finally, Sandy kicked off her slippers, sliding her sock-clad feet into her trusty boots, before grabbing one of her hoodies, a navy-blue one, before she rushed out of her bedroom. She must look ridiculous, she knew, still in her pyjamas paired with her heavy boots, but needs must and all that. Her brothers didn't say anything about her attire, though Sam did arch a brow as he ushered her out of the room, taking her bag and hooking it over one of his broad shoulders for her. </p>
<p>             Sandy couldn't help but look back at Bobby over her own shoulder as they left, noting just how torn and defeated he looked in that moment, and it damn near broke her heart. She didn't want to leave him, especially not here alone with Karen, knowing that she could turn deadly at any second. But she had faith in Bobby's abilities, he was a seasoned hunter after all, and she knew that when the moment came . . . he'd do what he had to do, no matter how hard, or how much it was like a knife to his heart to do it. </p>
<p>             Wordlessly, Sandy was herded out of the house and into the impala, right in between her two brothers, with her backpack locked safely away in the trunk by Sam. Where they were going . . . Sandy didn't yet know, nor did she want to be the one to ask, at least not in the wake of the angry tick building under Dean's right eye. So, instead, she just sat there, waiting and hoping that Sam was braver than her in that moment. </p>
<p>             "He's crazy," Dean decided in a vicious snap of words, hands tightening upon the wheel, as he pulled Baby out of the Scrape yard and onto the main road that lay directly outside of it, leading straight into town. </p>
<p>             "It's his wife, Dean," Sam tried to reason diplomatically. </p>
<p>             "So he goes "Full Metal Jacket" on us?" Dean countered in outrage, turning his anger on Sam for even trying to defend Bobby, "We're his family, Sam."</p>
<p>             "<em>So was she</em>," Sandy dared to add, hands moving in a cautious movement, not wanting to incur Dean's wrath too, but knowing that Bobby wasn't to blame in this situation, he was just a man and he was hurting something fierce right now.  </p>
<p>             "Look, man," Sam cut in before Dean could snap at Sandy, as he had with Sam, not that Sandy actually believed that he would turn his anger on her, Dean always lost steam before his rage ever reached her. "Bigger fish, okay? I mean, we got a bunch of zombies about to turn this town into a giant chew toy."</p>
<p>             "Yeah, and now he's alone in the house making pie with one of 'em!" Dean yelled out in frustration, his hands hitting against the steering wheel once, as his anger for Bobby shined clear as sunlight right down to the heart of his immediate rage, highlighting his concern. </p>
<p>             "All right," Sam sounded, clearly of the same mind as Sandy, that Bobby was more than capable of taking care of himself, "So?"</p>
<p>             "So! I'm gonna have to go back there and . . . and . . . and kill her," Dean exclaimed, distress ringing clear, as he drove down the main road leading into town, "That's the only thing I can think of."</p>
<p>             "<em>If he sees you, you're a dead man</em>," Sandy warned, with Sam having to translate for their brother since he was driving and therefore couldn't look at her and her rapidly moving hands. </p>
<p>             "Well, then, I guess I won't let him see me," Dean shrugged dismissively, even if he did swallow thickly in discomfort, obviously not wanting to acknowledge or think about confronting Bobby. </p>
<p>             "Okay," Sam relented with a sigh, "Me and Sandy, we'll uh . . . we'll head to town and rescue everyone."</p>
<p>             "<em>No biggy</em>," Sandy snarked with a snort, hands moving even as she rolled her eyes, "<em>Should be 'totally' easy, right?</em>"</p>
<p>             "Sounds like it," Dean scoffed with a humourless ring, knowing just how <em>not</em> easy that task was actually gonna' be, especially with Sam having to keep an eye on her untrained ass too while he did it. </p>
<p>             "I'm gonna need some help, Dean," Sam rebuffed his siblings' weak attempts at humour, as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. </p>
<p>             "<em>What about sheriff Mills?</em>" Sandy suggested.</p>
<p>             Sandy had personally seen her give Bobby a dressing-down on nearly every encounter that she'd witnessed between the two of them, the woman did not cower, she was a total boss lady. If anyone in this sleepy town was gonna' be able to help them deal with this problematic problem it was her, Sandy was sure of it, plus . . . she was armed and capable of actually using said weapon. </p>
<p>             "Uh, last time I checked, the sheriff was pretty pro-zombie," Sam shut-down gently, far more so than he would have had done if Dean had been the one to suggest it. </p>
<p>             "Well," Dean shrugged unsympathetically, seeing just as Sandy did, that they had little to no other viable options at hand, "I guess you two will just have to convince her."</p>
<p>             "How?" Sam demanded in exasperation, hands getting flung up.</p>
<p>             "I don't know," Dean offered out unhelpfully, completely ignoring the glare Sam sent him in response, "You're just gonna' have to try."</p>
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